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GABORIAU'S 
SENSATIONAL  NOVELS 

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THE 


LITTLE  OLD  MAN 
OF  BATIGNOLLES, 

LONDON:    VIZETELLT  fc?  CO. 
42,  Catherine  Street,  Strand. 


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A.  MATTHEY. 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES 
AND  OTHER  STOEIES. 


THE  GABORIAU  &  DU  BOISGOBEY 

SENSATIONAL      NOVELS. 

UNIFORM   WITH  THE  PRESENT  VOLUME. 


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picture  the  marvellous  Lecoq  and  other  wonders  of  shrewdness,  who  piece 
together  the  elaborate  details  of  the  most  complicated  crimes,  as  Professor 
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extraordinary  animals." 

The  following  Volum.es  are  already  Published  t 

IN    PERIL   OF   HIS   LIFE. 

THE    LEROUGE    CASE. 

LECOQ,    THE   DETECTIVE.       2  Vols. 

THE   GILDED   CLTQTJE. 

OTHER    PEOPLE'S    MONEY. 

THE    SLAVES    OF    PARIS.       2  Vols. 

DOSSIER,    NO.    113. 

THE   MYSTERY  OF   ORCIVAL. 

THE    COUNT'S    MILLIONS.       2  Vols. 

THE   LITTLE   OLD   MAN   OF   BATIGNOLLES. 

THE    OLD   AGE   OF   LECOQ,    THE    DETECTIVE.       2  Vols. 

INTRIGUES    OF    A    POISONER. 

THE    CATASTROPHE.       2  Vols. 

IN    THE    SERPENTS'  COILS. 

THE   DAY   OF  RECKONING.       2  Vols. 

THE    SEVERED    HAND. 

BERTHA'S   SECRET. 

WHO    DIED   LAST? 

THE    CRIME    OF    THE    OPERA    HOUSE.       2  Vols. 

THE    MATAPAN    AFFAIR. 

To  be  followed  by: 

A   FIGnT    FOR  A   FORTUNE. 
THE    GOLDEN    PIG.       2  Vols. 
THE   THUMB    STROKE. 

Other   Volumes  are   in  Preparation. 


GABORIAU'S  SENSATIONAL  NOVELS. 


VIII. 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN 


OF 


BATIGNOLLES 


.A.  XnT  3D     OTHEB    8TOBIBS. 


By  EMILE   GABOEIAU. 


THIRTIETH  THOUSAND. 


LONDON : 

VlZETELLY  fr  CO.,  42  CAJHER1NE  STREET,  STRAND, 

1886. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  LITTLE   OLD   MAN  Off  EATIGNOLLES 

THE   MATRIMONIAL  AMBASSADOR 

LOVE   OR  WEALTH?      - 

MISSING 

THAT  UNFORTUNATE   HODSE    - 

THE   SEMINARY  - 


Page 

5 

53 

129 

167 
1S1 
191 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES: 

A  CHAPTER  OF  A  DETECTIVE'S  MEMOIRS. 


J.   B.   CASIMIR  GODEUTL. 

Some  years  ago  a  man  dressed  in  black,  and  apparently  in  the  prime  oi 
life,  presented  himself  at  the  office  of  the  popular  Parisian  newspaper, 
"Le  Petit  Journal,"  bringing  with  him  a  manuscript  of  such  exquisite 
penmanship  that  even  Brard,  the  prince  of  caligraphic  artists,  would 
hav*  deemed  it  worthy  of  his  talent.  "I  will  call  again  in  a  fortnight," 
said  the  stranger,  "  to  know  what  you  think  of  my  work." 

The  manuscript,  like  many  and  many  of  its  predecessors,  was  at  once 
stored  away  in  a  box  labelled,  "MS.  to  be  read,"  without  the  editor, 
the  reader,  or  any  of  the  staff  evincing  the  least  curiosity  concerning  its 
contents.  Time  passed  by,  and  its  author  failed  to  return  ;  but  at  last 
the  reader  was  in  duty  bound  compelled  to  glance  through  the  box's 
contents,  and  one  day,  strange  to  relate,  he  burst  into  the  office  with  a 
beaming  face.  "  I  have  just  read  something  most  extraordinary,"  said 
he  ;  "  the  manuscript  which  that  strange  looking  fellow  in  black  left 
with  us,  and  without  joking  it  is  really  a  clever  performance."  Now 
the  readers  attached  to  publishing  firms  or  newspaper  offices  are  not  as 
a  rule  enthusiastic  beings  :  rather  the  reverse,  for  they  spend  their  lives 
wading  through  pages  and  pages  of  trash,  and  penning  the  laconic 
mention,  "Declined  with  thanks"  on  the  margin  of  amateur  copy. 
Thus  when  the  reader  of  the  Petit  Journal  expressed  such  a  high  opinion 
of  the  manuscript  in  question  a  general  expression  of  surprise  escaped 
the  various  regular  contributors  who  were  present.  But  with  unabated 
fervour  he  cut  all  controversy  short  by  throwing  the  manuscript  on  the 
table,  and  exclaiming :  "You  doubt  me,  gentlemen  ?  Well  read  it,  your 
selves. " 

This  sufficed  to  kindle  curiosity.  One  of  the  writers  on  the  paper 
immediately  put  the  MS.  in  his  pocket,  and  when  by  the  end  of  the 
week  it  had  made  the  round  of  the  staff,  there  was  but  one  opinion : 
"The  Petit  Journal  must  publish  it." 

At  this  point,  however,  an  unforeseen  difficulty  arose.  The  manu- 
script bore  no  author's  name.  The  man  in  black  had  merely  left  with 
ft  a  card,  on  which  was  inscribed,  "J,  B.  Casinyr  Godeuil,"  without 


6  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

any  address.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Was  the  MS.  to  be  published 
anonymously  ?  That  was  scarcely  practicable  at  an  epoch  when  the 
French  press  laws  required  each  printed  line  to  be  signed  by  a  responsible 
person.  Besides  was  it  certain  that  M.  J.  B.  Casimir  Godeuil  was  the 
author  ?  Might  he  not  have  presented  the  manuscript  on  a  friend's 
behalf  ?  To  decide  this  point  the  only  course  was  to  find  him,  and  in- 
quiries were  forthwith  instituted  in  all  directions,  but  unfortunately 
without  result.  No  one  had  seemingly  ever  heard  of  such  a  being  as  J. 
B.  Casimir  Godeuil. 

Then  it  was,  that  all  Paris  was  placarded  with  gigantic  bills  asking 
for  information  concerning  M.  Godeuil's  whereabouts.  The  walls  of 
Lyons,  Marseilles,  and  other  large  cities  were  similiarly  posted,  and  dur- 
ing a  whole  week  folks  asked  themselves  "  Who  can  this  man  Godeuil 
be  ?"  Several  opined  that  he  was  some  prodigal  son,  whose  return  to  the 
parental  roof  was  anxiously  hoped  for ;  others  suggested  that  he  must 
be  the  lost  heir  to  some  princely  fortune ;  whilst  others  again  surmised 
that  he  might  be  a  dishonest  cashier,  who  had  absconded  with  the  con- 
tents of  his  employer's  strong  box.  But,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  manager 
of  the  Petit  Journal  had  attained  his  object.  Scarcely  were  the  first 
bills  posted  when  M.  J.  B.  Casimir  Godeuil  hastened  in  person  to  the 
office  of  the  paper  and  made  all  necessary  arrangements  for  the  publica- 
tion of  his  narrative:  "The  Little  Old  Man  of  Batignolles," 
which  constituted,  he  said,  the  first  part  of  his  memoirs.  He,  moreover, 
promised  to  bring  other  fragments  of  his  autobiography,  but  in  this  re- 
spect he  failed  to  keep  his  word,  and  all  subsequent  efforts  to  find  him 
again  proved  unsuccessful.  The  following  narrative  (complete  in  itself), 
is  therefore  his  only  published  work,  but  with  the  view  of  throwing 
some  light  on  the  author's  character  and  object  we  have  decided  to 
print  the  subjoined  preface,  written  by  himself,  and  which  was  to  hav« 
served  for  the  whole  series  of  his  memoirs  : 


PREFACE. 

A  prisoner  had  just  been  brought  before  an  investigating  magistrate, 
and  despite  his  denials,  his  stratagems  and  an  alleged  alibi,  it  had  been 
shown  that  he  was  guilty  both  of  forgery  and  theft.  Conquered  by  the 
evidence  I  had  collected  against  him,  he  confessed  his  crimes,  exclaim- 
ing :  "  Ah  !  If  I  had  only  known  the  true  power  of  the  police  and  how 
difficult  it  is  to  escape  its  search,  I  should  have  remained  an  honest 
man. " 

These  words  inspired  me  with  the  idea  of  writing  my  memoirs.  Was 
it  not  advisable  that  every  one  should  be  made  acquainted  with  the  true 
etate  of  affairs  ?  Would  not  my  revelations  have  a  beneficial  effect  ? 
Might  I  not  strip  crime  of  the  poetry  of  romance  and  shew  it  as  it  really 
is  :  cowardly  and  ignoble,  abject  and  repulsive  ?  Would  it  not  be  use- 
ful to  prove  that  the  most  wretched  beings  in  the  world,  are  the  mad- 
men who  declare  war  against  society  ?  And  that  is  what  I  propose 
doing.  I  will  prove  that  everyone  has  an  immediate,  positive,  mathe- 
matical interest  in  remaining  honest — I  will  show  that,  with  our  social 
organisation,  with  the  railroad  and  the  electric  telegraph,  impunity  ia 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLBS.  / 

virtually  impossible.  Punishment  may  be  deferred,  but  it  always  comes 
at  last.  And  profiting  by  what  I  write,  many  misguided  beings  may 
reflect  before  allowing  themselves  to  slide  along  the  road  of  crime. 
Many,  whom  the  faint  murmurings  of  conscience  would  have  failed  to 
influence,  may  be  arrested  in  their  course  by  the  voice  of  fear. 

Need  I  speak  of  the  nature  of  these  memoirs  ?  They  will  describe 
the  struggles,  efforts,  defeats,  and  victories  of  the  few  devoted  men  to 
whom  the  security  of  the  Parisians  is  virtually  entrusted.  To  cope 
with  all  the  criminals  of  a  city,  which,  with  its  suburbs,  numbers  more 
than  three  millions  of  inhabitants,  there  are  but  two  hundred  detectives 
at  the  disposal  of  the  Prefecture  of  Police.  It  is  to  them  that  I  dedicate 
this  narrative. 


When  I  was  completing  my  studies,  in  hopes  of  one  day  becoming  a 
medical  man — it  was  in  the  good  old  times  when  I  was  but  three  and 
twenty — I  lived  in  the  Rue  Monsieur-le-Prince,  almost  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Racine.  For  thirty  francs  a  month,  service  included,  I  rented 
a  furnished  room,  which  would  cost  more  than  three  times  as  much 
now-a-days,  a  room  of  such  vast  proportions  that  I  was  really  able  to 
stretch  out  my  arms  when  putting  on  my  coat,  without  having  to  open 
the  window.  I  rose  early  and  I  went  home  late ;  for  in  the  morning  I 
had  my  hospital  to  ' '  walk,"  and  at  night  time  the  Caf6  Leroy  possessed 
a  seductive  attraction  which  I  was  powerless  to  resist.  Thus,  it 
happened,  that  with  one  exception,  the  other  dwellers  in  the  house — 
mostly  quiet  people,  living  either  by  trade  or  on  their  incomes — were 
scarcely  known  to  me,  even  by  sight.  The  person  I  have  excepted 
from  the  others  was  a  man  of  medium  height,  with  a  clean  shaven  face, 
and  common-place  features,  whom  every  one  always  deferentially  called 
"Monsieur"  Mechinet.  The  doorkeeper  treated  him  with  the  most 
profound  respect,  and  invariably  took  off  his  cap  whenever  he  perceived 
him.  M.  Mechinet  lived  on  the  same  floor  as  myself  ;  in  fact  his  door 
was  just  opposite  mine,  and  on  several  occasions  we  had  encountered 
each  other  on  the  landing.  As  a  matter  of  course,  we  bowed  to  one 
another,  whenever  this  happened,  but  for  some  time  our  acquaintance 
was  confined  to  these  rudimentary  tokens  of  civility.  One  night,  how- 
ever, M.  Mechinet  knocked  at  my  door  to  ask  me  to  oblige  him  with  a 
few  lucifers;  another  night  I  borrowed  some  tobacco  from  him,  and  one 
morning  we  happened  to  leave  the  house  at  the  same  time  and  walked 
together  down  the  street  exchanging  the  usual  commonplace  remarks 
about  the  weather.     Such  was  the  commencement  of  our  connection. 

Although  I  was  neither  inquisitive  nor  suspicious — a  man  is  seldom  so 
at  three  and  twenty — I  nevertheless  liked  to  know  what  sort  of  people 
I  had  to  deal  with,  and  without  prying  into  my  neighbour's  life  I 
naturally  asked  myself:  "  Who  is  he?  what  is  his  profession?"  I  knew 
that  he  was  married,  and  to  all  appearances  worshipped  by  his  wife,  a 
plump  little  body  with  fair  hair,  and  a  smiling  face  ;  and  yet  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  was  a  man  of  most  irregular  habits,  for  he  would  fre- 
quently leave  the  house  before  daybreak,  and  I  often  heard  him  come 


8  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

home  during  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  after  being  out  all  night. 
Moreover,  every  now  and  then  he  would  absent  himself  for  weeks  at  a 
time — and  I  could  not  understand  how  pretty  little  Madame  Mechinet 
could  put  up  with  such  strange  behaviour,  and  indeed  show  herself  so 
loving  towards  a  husband  of  such  a  roaming  disposition.  In  my  per- 
plexity I  bethought  myself  of  the  doorkeeper,  who,  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, was  as  garrulous  as  a  magpie,  and  who,  I  conjectured,  would 
readily  give  me  the  information  I  desired.  But  I  made  a  great  mistake  ; 
for  scarcely  had  I  mentioned  the  name  of  Mechinet  to  him,  than  he 
sent  me  about  my  business  in  fine  style,  fiercely  rolling  his  eyes  and  in- 
dignantly declaring  that  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  "spying"  the 
tenants  of  the  house.  This  unwonted  reception  on  the  doorkeeper's 
part  so  fanned  my  curiosity,  that  dismissing  all  restraint  I  began  to 
watch  my  neighbour  in  earnest. 

I  soon  made  certain  discoveries  which  seemed  to  me  of  a  most  ominous 
character.  One  day  I  saw  him  come  home  dressed  in  the  latest  fashion, 
with  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  displayed  in  his  button-hole, 
and  a  couple  of  mornings  later  I  met  him  on  the  stairs  wearing  a  dirty 
blouse  and  a  ragged  cap,  which  gave  him  a  most  villainous  appearance. 
And  this  was  not  everything,  for  one  afternoon,  just  as  he  was  going 
out,  I  perceived  his  wife  take  leave  of  him  on  the  landing  and  kiss  him 
with  passionate  fondness,  exclaiming  :  "  Take  care,  my  dear,  be  prudent, 
think  of  your  little  wife  at  home."  "Be  prudent,"  indeed  !  Why  was 
he  to  be  prudent?  What  did  this  all  mean?  Was  the  wife  the 
husband's  accomplice  in  all  these  strange  goings  on  ?  After  this  in- 
cident I  was  fairly  stupefied,  but  there  was  even  yet  more  to  come. 

One  night  I  was  in  bed,  asleep  and  dreaming.  Fancy  had  carried  me 
back  to  the  Cafe  Leroy,  which  I  had  left  a  few  hours  previously,  and  I 
was  apparently  absorbed  in  watching  a  most  interesting  game  of  billiards. 
The  ivory  balls  sped  right  and  leftover  the  green  baize,  now  striking  the 
bands,  and  now  cannoning  with  wonderful  precision  and  effect.  One 
thing  surprised  me,  that  whenever  they  came  into  contact  there  was  a 
loud  report,  and  at  last,  indeed,  there  was  such  a  constant  succession  of 
cannons  and  clashes  that  I  fairly  started  and  woke  up.  The  problem 
was  instantaneously  explained  to  me.  What  I  had  taken  for  the  clash- 
ing of  the  billiard  balls  was  a  loud  and  repeated  rat-tat-tat  outside  my 
room.  I  immediately  sprang  out  of  bed  to  ascertain  what  was  the 
matter,  and,  to  my  surprise,  as  soon  as  I  had  opened  the  door,  who 
should  rush  in  but  my  mysterious  neighbour,  Mechinet,  with  his  clothes 
in  tatters,  his  shirt-front  torn  apart,  but  a  wisp  of  his  necktie  left 
him,  his  head  bare,  and,  to  complete  the  picture,  his  face  besmeared 
with  blood.  "Good  heavens!"  cried  I,  in  affright,  "what  has  hap- 
pened?" 

"  Speak  lower  !  you  might  be  heard,"  rejoined  my  neighbour  with  an 
imperious  wave  of  the  hand.  "  This  wound  of  mine  in  the  face  may  be 
nothing  after  all,  but  it  smarts  terribly,  and  I  thought  you  might  be 
able  to  dress  it,  as  you  are  a  medical  student." 

Without  another  word  I  made  him  sit  down,  and  examined  the  wound 
he  spoke  of.  As  he  had  surmised,  it  was  not  serious,  although  it  bled 
profusely.  In  point  of  fact,  the  skin  of  his  left  cheek  was  grazed  from 
ear  to  mouth,  and  at  different  points  the  flesh  was  bare.     As  soon  as  I 


THE   LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES.  9 

had  washed  the  cheek  and  dressed  it,  M.  Mechinet  warmly  tendered 
me  his  acknowledgments.  "  Well,  I've  escaped  without  much  harm 
after  all,"  said  he.  "Many  thanks,  M.  Godeuil,  I'm  greatly  obliged  to 
you.     Pray  don't  mention  this  little  accident  ...  to  any  one. 

Forgive  me  for  disturbing  you,  and  now,  good-night ! " 

Good-night,  indeed  !  As  if  I  could  sleep  in  peace  after  such  an  ad- 
venture. My  mind  was  haunted  with  all  manner  of  strange  ideas.  It 
was  plain  enough  now  that  this  man  Mechinet  must  be  a  highway-robber 
or  a  burglar,  possibly  a  cut  throat,  and,  at  all  events,  a  villain  of  the 
deepest  dye.  However,  he  quietly  called  on  me  the  next  day,  thanked 
me  over  again,  and,  to  my  surprise,  wound  up  by  inviting  me  to  dinner. 
Such  courteous  behaviour  was  scarcely  in  keeping  with  the  character  I 
had  assigned  to  him,  and  more  puzzled  than  ever  I  decided  to  accept  his 
invitation,  hoping  that  it  might  lead  to  some  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
I  was,  indeed,  all  eyes  and  ears  on  entering  my  neighbour's  lodgings  ; 
but,  despite  the  most  minute  scrutiny  and  patient  attention,  I  neither 
saw  nor  heard  anything  at  all  of  a  nature  to  enlighten  me. 

Still,  it  happened  that  after  this  dinner  our  acquaintance  considerably 
improved.  M.  Mechinet  seemed  anxious  to  cultivate  my  friendship. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  invite  me  to  take  "pot  luck "  with  him- 
self and  his  wife,  and  nearly  every  afternoon,  during  "the  hour  of 
absinthe,"  he  would  join  me  at  the  Caf6  Leroy,  where  we  habitually  in- 
dulged in  a  game  of  dominoes  pending  dinner-time.  One  afternoon,  in 
the  month  of  July,  between  five  and  six  o'clock,  while  we  were  thus  en- 
gaged at  the  cafi,  an  ill-clad,  suspicious-looking  individual  hurried  in, 
and  approaching  my  neighbour,  whispered  something,  which  I  failed  to 
master,  in  his  ear.  M.  Mechinet  immediately  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
pale  face.  "I'm  coming!"  said  he.  "Run  and  tell  them  I'm  coming;" 
whereupon  the  messenger  started  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 
Then  turning  to  me,  and  holding  out  his  hand,  my  neigiibour  remarked  : 
"  Please  excuse  me,  M.  Godeuil,  but  duty  before  everything,  you  know; 
I  must  leave  now,  but  we  will  resume  our  game  to-morrow. " 

All  aglow  with  curiosity,  and  particularly  struck  by  his  air  of  excite- 
ment, I  could  not  conceal  the  vexation  his  abrupt  departure  caused  me  ; 
and  still  actuated  by  anxiety  to  penetrate  the  seeming  mystery,  I  made 
so  bold  as  to  say  that  I  felt  sorry  I  was  not  to  accompany  him.  "Eh  ?  " 
he  retorted  ;  "well,  after  all,  why  not?  Will  you  come?  It  may  be 
interesting?  "  I  was  too  delighted  and  impatient  to  waste  time  in  ex- 
changing superfluous  words,  so  that  my  only  answer  was  to  put  on  my 
hat  and  follow  him  out  of  the  cafe\ 


II. 

In  accompanying  M.  Mechinet,  I  was  certainly  far  from  thinking  that 
such  a  simple  act  would  have  a  most  decisive  influence  on  my  own  after- 
life. "  Well,  now,  I  shall  know  what  this  all  means,"  I  murmured  to 
myself,  as  puffed  up  with  puerile  satisfaction  I  trotted  down  the  Rue 
Racine  in  my  neighbour's  wake.  I  use  the  word  "trotted"  advisedly, 
for  in  truth  I  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  pace  with  my  companion, 
who  rushed  on,  pushing  the  passers-by  out  of  his  way  with  a  strange  air 


10  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

of  authority,  and  making  such  rapid  strides  that  one  might  have  imagined 
his  fortune  depended  on  his  legs. 

Just  as  we  reached  the  Place  de  l'Odtfon,  an  empty  cab  drove  by. 
"Eh,  cabman,  stop  !  "  cried  M.  Mechinet,  and  opening  one  of  the  doors 
he  bade  me  get  into  the  vehicle.  "Drive  as  fast  as  you  can  to  39  Rue  cle 
Lecluse,  at  Batignolles,"  he  added,  speaking  to  the  Jehu,  and  then  with 
a  bound  he  reached  my  side.  The  distance  made  the  driver  swear,  but 
cutting  his  thin  horse  with  a  vigorous  stroke  of  the  whip  he  turned  him 
in  the  right  direction,  and  we  rolled  off,  down  towards  the  Seine. 

"  Ah  !  so  we  are  going  to  Batignolles,"  said  I,  in  my  most  winning 
manner — that  is,  with  courtly  deference  and  just  an  interrogative  touch 
in  my  tone.  But  to  my  disappointment,  M.  Mechinet  did  not  answer 
.  me,  and  indeed,  I  fancy  that  he  did  not  hear  my  remark. 

A  strange  change  had  come  over  his  demeanour.  He  was  not  pre- 
cisely excited,  but  his  pursed  lips  and  knitted  brows  showed  that  he 
was  greatly  preoccupied.  His  glance,  lost  in  space,  seemed  to  indicate 
that  he  was  studying  some  mysterious,  intricate  problem.  He  had 
drawn  a  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  and  incessantly  drew  forth  enormous 
pinches,  which,  after  rolling  between  his  fore-finger  and  his  thumb,  he 
carried  to  his  nose — without  inhaling  them,  however.  This  was  one  of 
his  little  private  manias  which  I  had  previously  observed,  and  which 
greatly  amused  me.  The  worthy  man  held  snuff  in  horror,  and  yet  he 
was  always  provided  with  a  huge,  meretriciously  adorned  snuff-box, 
such  as  players  use  when  enacting  a  farce  upon  the  stage.  If  anything 
unforeseen  happened  to  him,  were  it  either  agreeable  or  afflictive,  he  in- 
variably drew  this  monster  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  and  pretended  to 
regale  himself  with  a  vast  number  of  pinches.  Later  on,  I  learnt  that 
the  subterfuge  formed  part  of  a  system  he  had  invented  with  the  view 
of  concealing  his  impressions  and  diverting  the  attention  of  folks  around 
him. 

In  the  meanwhile,  we  were  rolling  on.  The  cab  climbed  the  pre- 
cipitous Rue  de  Clichy,  crossed  the  outer  boulevard,  turned  into  the  Rue 
de  Lecluse,  and  drew  up  a  short  distance  from  the  number  that  had  been 
given  to  the  driver.  It  was  materially  impossible  to  go  any  further, 
for  the  street  was  crammed  with  a  compact  crowd.  In  front  of  No.  39, 
two  or  three  hundred  persons  were  standing  with  extended  necks,  gap- 
ing mouths,  and  inquisitive  eyes.  Their  curiosity  was  so  keen  that 
they  utterly  disregarded  the  authoritative  injunctions  of  half  a  dozen 
sergents  de  ville  who,  as  they  passed  to  and  fro,  kept  on  repeating  : 
"  Move  on  !  move  on  !  " 

Alighting  from  the  vehicle,  we  approached  the  house,  elbowing  our 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  we  were  but  a  few  steps  from  the  door  of 
No.  39,  when  one  of  the  sergents  de  ville  roughly  bade  us  draw  back. 
My  companion  took  in  the  man's  measure  from  head  to  foot  at  a  single 
glance,  and  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  exclaimed  : 

"  Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  am  Mechinet,  and  this  young  man  (pointing 
to  myself)  is  with  me. " 

"Oh,  pray  excuse  me,  sir, ".stammered  the  sergent  de  ville,  saluting 
us  with  military  precision.  "I  did  not  recognise  you — I  was  not  aware 
- — but  please  walk  in." 

We   crossed   the   threshold       In   the   hall   a   stalwart,    middle-aged 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  1 1 

woman,  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  poppy,  was  perorating  and  gesticulating 
in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  tenants  belonging  to  the  house.  '  She  was 
evidently  the  concierge  or  doorkeeper. 

"  Where  is  it  ? "  roughly  asked  M.  Mechinet,  cutting  her  recital  short. 

"  On  the  third  floor,  sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  on  the  third  floor — the  door 
on  the  right  hand.  Oh  Lord  !  what  a  misfortune  !  In  a  house  like  ours  ! 
And  such  a  worthy  man,  too  !  " 

I  did  not  hear  any  more,  for  M.  Mechinet  had  already  sprung  towards 
the  staircase,  up  which  I  followed  him,  climbing  four  stairs  at  a  time, 
and  with  my  heart  palpitating  as  if  I  were  about  to  lose  my  breath.  On 
the  third  landing,  the  door  on  the  right  hand  side  was  open.  We  went 
in,  crossed  an  ante-room,  a  dining-room,  and  a  parlour,  and  finally 
reached  a  bed-chamber  of  ample  size.  Were  I  to  live  a  thousand  years, 
I  should  never  forget  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes.  At  this  moment  even, 
I  can  still  picture  in  my  mind  every  particular  of  the  scene. 

Two  men  were  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece  in  front  of  the  door. 
One  of  them,  whose  frock-coat  was  begirded  with  a  tricolour  sash,  was  a 
commissary  of  police  ;  the  other,  an  investigating  magistrate.  A  young 
man,  plainly  the  latter's  clerk,  was  seated  writing  at  a  table  on  the  left 
hand  side  ;  while  on  the  floor  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  lay  a  lifeless 
body — the  body  of  a  little,  white-haired,  old  man,  who  was  stretched  on 
his  back,  with  extended  arms,  in  the  midst  of  a  pool  of  black,  coagulated 
blood. 

In  my  terror,  I  remained  rooted  on  the  threshold — so  overcome,  in- 
deed, that  to  avoid  falling  I  had  to  lean  for  support  against  the  frame- 
work of  the  door.  And  yet,  like  every  man  of  my  profession,  I  was  al- 
ready familiar  with  death.  I  was  accustomed  to  all  the  sickening  sights 
which  are  every-day  occurrences  in  an  hospital  or  a  medical  school,  but 
then,  this  was  the  first  time  that  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  crime. 
For  it  was  evident  that  an  atrocious  crime  had  been  committed. 

Less  impressed  than  myself,  my  neighbour  entered  the  room  with  a 
firm  step. 

"Ah,  it's  you,  Mechinet,"  said  the  commissary  of  police.  "I  am 
sorry  I  sent  for  you." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  "  asked  my  neighbour. 

"  Because  we  shan't  need  to  appeal  to  your  skill.  We  know  the  culprit, 
I  have  given  the  necessary  orders,  and  he  must  be  arrested  by  now." 

Singularly  enough,  it  looked  as  if  this  news  sadly  disappointed  M. 
Mechinet.  He  drew  out  his  snuff-box,  pretended  to  take  two  or  three 
pinches,  and  exclaimed  :   "Ah,  you  know  the  culprit  !  " 

It  was  the  investigating  magistrate  who  replied:  "Yes,  know  him 
certainly  and  positively,"  said  he.  "  When  the  crime  was  accomplished 
the  murderer  fled,  believing  that  his  victim  had  ceased  to  live.  But 
Providence   was    watching.      .  The  poor  old  man  still  breathed. 

Summoning  all  his  energy  he  dipped  a  finger  in  the  blood  that  was  flow- 
ing from  his  wound,  and  there  on  the  floor  he  traced  his  murderer's 
name,  thus  handing  him  over  to  human  justice.  However,  look 

for  yourself." 

On  hearing  this  I  immediately  glanced  at  the  floor,  on  one  of  the  oak 
boards  of  which,  the  letters  M  0  N  I  S  were  traced  in  blood,  in  rough 
but  legible  fashion.     "  Well  ?  "  asked  M.  Mechinet,  laconically. 


12  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

"Well,"  replied  the  commissary  of  police;  "those  letters  form  the 
first  two  syllables  of  the  name  of  Monistrol,  which  is  that  of  the  mur- 
dered man's  nephew — a  nephew  of  whom  he  was  very  fond." 

"  The  d 1,"  ejaculated  my  neighbour. 

"  I  don't  fancy,"  resumed  the  investigating  magistrate  ;  "  I  don't  fancy 
that  the  scoundrel  will  attempt  to  deny  his  guilt.  Those  five  letters  are 
terrible  proof  against  him.  And  besides,  he  is  the  only  man  who  could 
benefit  by  such  a  cowardly  crime.  He  is  the  sole  heir  of  this  poor  old 
fellow,  who  leaves,  I  am  told,  considerable  wealth  behind  him.  More- 
over, the  murder  was  committed  last  night,  and  the  only  person  who 
visited  the  victim  was  his  nephew  Monistrol,  who,  according  to  the  con- 
cierge, arrived  at  nine  o'clock,  and  did  not  leave  till  nearly  midnight." 

"It's  clear,  then,"  rejoined  M.  Mechinet,  "as  clear  as  daylight. 
That  fellow  Monistrol  is  a  perfect  fool."  And,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
he  asked  :  "  Did  he  steal  anything — did  he  force  open  any  article  of  fur- 
niture to  mislead  one  as  to  the  motive  of  the  crime  ?  " 

"  Up  to  the  present,"  replied  the  commissary,  "  we  have  not  noticed 
anything  out  of  order.  As  you  say,  the  scoundrel  is  not  particularly  in- 
genious. As  soon  as  he  is  arrested,  he  will  no  doubt  confess."  Thereupon 
he  drew  M.  Mechinet  to  the  window,  and  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  voice  ; 
while  the  magistrate  turned  to  give  some  orders  to  his  clerk. 


in. 

So  far  as  M.  MtSckinet  was  concerned,  my  curiosity  was  satisfied.  I 
had  wished  to  know  my  enigmatical  neighbour's  profession,  and  now  I 
knew  it.  He  was  simply  a  detective.  Thus,  all  the  incidents  of  his 
seemingly  erratic  life  were  explained — his  frequent  absence  from  home, 
his  tardy  return  at  night-time,  his  frequent  change  of  costume,  his  sud- 
den disappearances,  his  wife'3  fears  and  complicity,  and  even  the  wound 
I  had  dressed.  But  all  this  was  of  little  moment  now.  I  was  far  less 
interested  in  M.  Mechinet  than  in  the  spectac's  offered  to  my  view.  I 
had  gradually  recovered  both  my  firmness  and  the  faculty  of  reflecting  ; 
and  I  examined  everything  around  me  with  eager  curiosity.  Standing 
beside  the  door,  my  glance  took  in  the  whole  room.  When  scenes  of 
murder  are  portrayed  in  illustrated  periodicals  they  are  usually  invested 
with  an  exaggerated  aspect  of  disorder.  But  such  was  far  from  being 
the  case  in  the  present  instance.  Everything  testified  to  the  victim's  easy 
circumstances  and  habits  of  order  and  relative  parsimony.  Everything 
was  in  its  place.  The  bed  and  the  window  curtains  were  faultlessly 
draped  ;  and  the  woodwork  of  the  furniture  was  bright  with  polish — a 
proof  of  daily  care.  It  appeared  evident  that  the  conjectures  of  the 
commissary  and  the  magistrate  were  correct,  and  that  the  old  man  had 
been  murdered  the  night  before,  just  as  he  was  going  to  retire  to  rest. 
In  proof  of  this  the  bed  was  turned  down,  and  a  night-shirt  and  a  night- 
cap were  spread  out  open  on  the  counterpane.  On  the  little  table  at  the 
head  of  the  bed  I  perceived  a  glass  of  sugared  water,  a  box  of  lucifers, 
and  an  evening  newspaper — the  Patrie.  On  the  corner  of  the  mantel- 
Shelf  shone  a  weighty  copper  candlestick,  but  the  candle  which  had 
lighted  the  crime  had  burnt  away.     The  murderer  had  plainly  fled  with- 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES.  13 

out  blowing  it  out,  and  the  top  of  the  candlestick,  from  which  hung  a  few 
fragments  of  wax,  like  pendant  icicles,  was  greatly  soiled  and  blackened. 

I  noticed  all  these  circumstances  well  nigli  at  the  first  glance.  My 
eyes  seemed  to  play  the  part  of  a  photographic  lens,  and  the  scene  of  the 
murder  fixed  itself  on  my  mind  as  on  a  prepared  sheet  of  glass,  with  such 
precision,  accuracy,  and  effect,  that  even  to  day  I  could  draw  from  mem- 
ory the  bed-room  occupied  by  the  Little  Old  Man  of  Batignolles,  without; 
forgetting  any  single  object  it  contained — without  omitting  even  the 
green-sealed  cork,  which  I  still  seem  to  see,  lying  on  the  ground  under- 
neath the  chair  of  the  magistrate's  clerk.  I  was  not  previously  aware 
that  I  possessed  this  power  of  observation — this  master  faculty,  so  sud- 
denly revealed  to  me,  and  on  the  spot  I  was  too  greatly  excited  to  be 
able  to  analyse  my  sensations  and  impressions. 

Curiously  enough,  I  was  possessed  of  an  unique,  irresistible  desire.  I 
felt  impelled,  despite  myself,  towards  the  corpse  extended  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  At  first  I  battled  with  my  impulse,  but  it  was  stronger 
than  all  my  other  feelings  ;  and,  yielding  to  it  at  last,  I  approached  the 
body.  Had  my  presence  been  noticed  ?  I  do  not  think  so.  At  all 
events,  no  attention  was  paid  to  me.  M.  Mechinet  and  the  commissary 
were  still  talking  beside  the  window  ;  and  the  clerk  was  reading  the 
minutes  of  the  proceedings  in  an  under  tone  to  the  magistrate.  Every- 
thing, therefore,  favoured  my  design,  and  besides,  I  was  seized,  as  it  were, 
with  a  kind  of  fever  which  made  me  insensible  to  what  was  going  on. 
Under  this  influence,  I  was  well  nigh  unconscious  of  the  functionaries' 
pre,«ence,  and,  acting  as  if  I  were  alone  and  free  to  do  whatever  I  liked, 
I  knelt  down  beside  the  corpse,  to  examine  it  closely  and  at  my  ease. 
Indeed,  far  from  reflecting  that  the  magistrate  or  the  commissary  might 
indignantly  ask  :  "  What  are  you  about  ?  "  I  acted  as  composedly  as  if  I 
were  about  to  discharge  some  pre-assigned  duty. 

The  unfortunate  old  man  seemed  to  be  from  seventy  to  seventy-five 
years  of  age.  He  was  short  and  very  thin,  but  certainly  very  hale  for 
his  age,  acd  constitutionally  fitted  to  become  well  nigh  a  centenarian. 
He  still  possessed  a  fair  crop  of  curly  hair  of  a  yellowish  white  tinge,  and 
his  face  was  covered  with  grey  bristles,  as  if  he  had  not  shaved  for  five 
or  six  days.  They  had  sprung  forth,  however,  since  his  demise,  and  it 
is  indeed  curious  to  note  how  rapidly,  under  certain  circumstances,  the 
beard  grows  immediately  after  death.  I  was  not  surprised  by  this,  for 
I  had  observed  many  similar  cases  among  the  "  subjects  "  provided  for 
the  examination  of  us  students  in  the  hospital  dissecting  hall.  What  did 
surprise  me  was  the  expression  of  the  old  man's  face.  It  was  calm  and, 
I  might  almost  say,  smiling.  His  lips  were  parted  as  if  he  had  been  on 
the  point  of  making  some  friendly  remark.  Death  must  have  overtaken 
him  most  suddenly  and  promptly,  for  his  face  to  retain  this  good-natured 
look.  Such  was  the  first  thought  that  presented  itself  to  my  mind. 
Ay,  but  then,  how  could  one  reconcile  these  conflicting  circumstances — 
sudden  death,  and  the  tracing  of  those  five  letters  M  0  N  I  S  on  the 
floor  ?  To  trace  these  letters  with  his  own  blood  would  require  a  great 
effort  on  the  part  of  a  dying  man.  Only  the  hope  of  vengeance  could 
lend  the  requisite  energy  for  such  a  task.  And  how  enraged  this  poor 
old  fellow  must  have  been  to  feel  the  grip  of  death  upon  him  before  he 
was  able  to  finish  writing  his  murderer's  name  ! 


14  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

Enraged  ?  But  no,  for  the  face  of  the  corpse  seemed  positively  to 
smile  at  me,  and  this  was  all  the  more  singular  as  the  victim  had  been 
struck  at  the  throat  with  a  steel  weapon,  which  had  penetrated  right 
through  his  neck.  This  weapon  must  have  been  a  dagger,  or  perhaps 
one  of  those  formidable  double-edged  Catalan  knives,  which  are  pointed 
as  finely  as  a  needle.  In  all  my  life  1  had  never  been  a  prey  to  such 
strange  sensations.  My  temples  beat  with  extraordinary  violence,  and 
I  could  feel  my  heart  swelling  and  almost  bursting  with  intensity  of  di- 
lation.    What  was  I  about  to  discover  ? 

Still  under  the  influence  of  the  same  mysterious,  irresistible  impulse 
which  annihilated  my  will,  I  took  hold  of  the  victim's  frozen,  rigid  hands 
to  examine  them.  The  right  hand  was  quite  clean,  unstained  ;  but  such 
was  not  the  case  with  the  left  one,  the  forefinger  of  which  was  red  with 
blood  !  What  !  had  the  old  man  traced  that  accusatory  inscription  with 
his  left  hand  ?  Was  it  probable  ?  was  it  likely  ?  No,  a  thousand  times 
no  !     But  then.  A  score  of  conflicting  thoughts  battled  in  my 

mind,  and,  seized  as  it  were  with  vertigo,  with  haggard  eyes  and  hair 
on  end,  as  pale  certainly  as  the  corpse  extended  on  the  floor,  I  sprung  to 
my  feet,  giving  vent  to  a  terrible  cry  :  "  Great  God  !  " 

My  shriek  must  have  resounded  through  the  house.  With  one  bound 
the  magistrate  and  Mechinet,  the  commissary  and  the  clerk  were  by  my 
side.  "What  is  the  matter?"  they  asked,  with  eager  excitement; 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

I  tried  to  answer,  but  emotion  well  nigh  paralysed  my  tongue.  All  I 
could  do  was  to  point  at  the  dead  man's  hands,  and  stammer  :  "  There, 
see  there  !  " 

M.  Mechinet  immediately  knelt  down  beside  the  corpse.  He  observed 
the  same  particulars  as  myself,  and  evidently  shared  my  opinion,  for, 
quickly  rising  to  his  feet  again,  he  exclaimed  :  "After  all,  it  was  not  the 
old  man  who  traced  those  letters."  And  then,  as  the  magistrate  and 
the  commissary  stared  at  him  with  gaping  mouths,  he  showed  them  that 
the  victim's  left  hand  alone  was  stained  with  blood. 

"  And  to  think  I  didn't  notice  it  !  "  mourned  the  commissary,  looking 
very  much  distressed. 

"  Ah,  it's  often  like  that,"  retorted  M.  Mechinet,  frantically  pretend- 
ing to  inhale  repeated  pinches  of  snuff.  "The  things  that  stare  us  in 
the  face  are  frequently  those  that  most  easily  escape  our  view.  . 
However,  the  situation  is  now  quite  changed.  As  it  is  evident  that  the 
old  man  did  not  write  those  letters,  they  must  have  been  traced  by  the 
man  who  killed  him." 

"  Quite  so,"  observed  the  commissary  in  an  approving  tone. 

"Well,"  continued  my  neighbour,  "it  is  plain  enough  that  a  mur- 
derer is  not  foolish  enough  to  denounce  himself  by  writing  his  own  name 
beside  his  victim's  corpse.  We  shall  all  agree  oa  that  point,  and  so  you 
may  draw  your  own  conclusions." 

The    investigating  magistrate  looked  thoughtful.     "Yes,"  he  mut- 
tered ;   "  it's  clear  enough.     We  were  deceived  by  appearances. 
Monistrol  is  not  guilty.     But  then,  who  can  be  the  culprit  ?     It  will  be 
your  business  to  find  him,  M.  Mechinet." 

The  magistrate  paused,  for  a  police  agent  of  subaltern  rank  was  at 
that  moment  entering  the  room.     "  Your  orders  are  executed,  sir,"  said 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLBS.  15 

the  new  comer,  addressing  himself  to  the  commissary;  "  Momsirol  has 
been  arrested,  and  he  is  now  under  lock  and  key  at  the  Depot.  He  has  con- 
fessed everything. " 

IV. 

The  news  created  all  the  greater  sensation  as,  by  reason  of  my  discov- 
ery, it  was  altogether  unexpected.  The  magistrate  and  the  commissary 
looked  absolutely  stupefied,  and,  for  myself,  I  was  overwhelmed.  What, 
whilst  we  were  busily  seeking,  by  a  mathematical  course  of  reasoning,  to 
establish  Monistrol's  innocence,  he,  on  his  side,  had  formally  confessed 
his  guilt !  Was  it  possible  ?  M.  Mechinet  was  the  first  to  recover 
from  this  hard  blow.  He  excitedly  carried  his  fingers  from  his  snuff-box 
to  his  nose  at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  then,  turning  to  the  agent,  roughly 
remarked:  "You've  either  been  misled  or  else  you  are  misleading  us. 
There's  no  other  alternative." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Monsieur  Mechinet,  .     "  began  the  man. 

"  Don't  swear,  pray  ;  but  hold  your  tongue.  Either  you  misunderstood 
what  Monistrol  said,  or  else  you've  flattered  yourself  with  the  hope  of 
astonishing  us  by  the  news  that  the  whole  affair  is  explained." 

The  police  agent,  who  had  hitherto  been  most  respectful  in  his  de- 
meanour towards  the  detective,  now  evinced  signs  of  revolt.  "  Excuse 
me,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  neither  a  fool  nor  a  liar,  and  I  know  what  I 
say." 

The  discussion  seemed  so  likely  to  turn  into  a  dispute  that  the  magis- 
trate thought  it  advisable  to  intervene.  "  Calm  yourself,  M.  Mechinet," 
said  he,  "  and  wait  for  information  before  pronouncing  judgment."  And 
turning  towards  the  agent,  he  added  "Now,  my  good  fellow,  just  tell 
us  what  you  know,  and  explain  what  you  have  already  said." 

Finding  himself  thus  supported  the  agent  drew  himself  up,  gave  my 
neighbour  a  glance  of  withering  irony,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  no  little 
self-conceit,  began  :  "You  gentlemen  instructed  Inspector  Goulard,  my 
colleague,  Poltin,  and  myself  to  arrest  a  party  named  Monistrol,  a  dealer 
in  imitation  jewellery,  residing  at  No.  75  Rue  Vivienne,  and  charged  with 
the  murder  of  his  uncle  here,  at  Batignolles. " 

"  Quite  correct,"  remarked  the  commissary,  with  an  approving  nod. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  agent,  "  we  took  a  cab  and  drove  to  the 
Rue  Vivienne.  Monistrol  was  in  a  little  room  at  the  rear  of  his  shop, 
and  he  was  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner  with  his  wife — a  woman  of  won- 
derful beauty,  between  five-and-twenty  and  thirty  years  of  age.  On 
perceiving  us  all  three  in  a  row,  the  husband  at  once  asked  us  what  we 
wanted,  whereupon  Inspector  Goulard  drew  the  warrant  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  replied  :  '  In  the  name  of  the  law  I  arrest  you.' " 

As  the  agent  proceeded  with  his  narrative,  M.  Mechinet  turned  and 
twisted  with  nervous  impatience.  "  Can't  you  come  to  the  point  ?  "  he 
suddenly  asked. 

But  the  agent  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption.  ' '  I  have  arrested  a 
good  many  fellows  in  my  time,"  said  he,  with  unabated  composure  ; 
' '  but  I  never  saw  any  one  experience  such  a  shock  as  this  man  Monis- 
trol. '  You  must  be  joking,'  he  said  at  last,  '  or  else  you  make  a  mis- 
take.'    'No,1  said  Goulard;  'we  don't  make  mistakes.'     '  Well  then, 


16  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

why  do  you  arrest  me  ?  '  Goulard  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  Don't  be« 
have  like  a  child,'  he  said.  '  Come,  what  about  your  unele  ?  His  body 
has  been  found,  you  know,  and  there  are  convincing  proof s  against  you.' 
Ah,  the  scamp  !  What  a  blow  it  was  for  him  !  He  staggered  and  let 
himself  fall  on  to  a  chair  stammering  some  unintelligible  reply,  half  the 
words  of  which  remained  in  his  throat.  On  seeing  this,  Goulard  caught 
him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and  said  :  'Take  ray  advice:  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  confess.'  Thereupon  he  looked  at  us  in  an  idiotic  man- 
ner, and  replied  :  '  Well,  yes,  I  confess  everything.'  " 

"  Well  done,  Goulard  !  "  quoth  the  commissary,  approvingly. 

The  agent  triumphed.  "  We  were  bent  on  getting  the  business  over 
as  soon  as  possible,"  he  said.  "  We  were  instructed  not  to  create  a  dis- 
turbance, and  yet  a  lot  of  idlers  had  already  collected  in  front  of  the 
shop.  So  Goulard  caught  hold  of  the  prisoner  by  the  arm,  and  said : 
'  Let's  be  off  ;  they  are  waiting  for  us  at  the  Prefecture.'  Monistrol  drew 
himself  up  as  well  as  he  could  on  his  quaking  legs,  and,  summoning  all 
his  courage,  answered  :  '  Yes,  let  us  start.'  We  thought  the  business 
finished  after  that,  but  we  had  reckoned  without  the  wife.  Up  till  then 
she  had  remained  in  her  arm  chair  as  still  as  if  she  had  fainted,  and 
without  saying  a  word.  Indeed,  she  scarcely  seemed  to  understand  what 
was  going  on.  But  when  she  saw  that  we  were  really  going  to  carry  her 
husband  off,  she  sprung  forward  like  a  lioness,  and  threw  herself  before 
the  door.  '  You  sha'n't  pass, '.she  cried.  'Pon  my  word  she  really  looked 
superb.  But  Goulard  has  had  to  deal  with  many  similar  cases.  '  Come, 
come,  my  little  woman,'  said  he,  '  don't  get  angry.  It  wouldn't  do  any 
good.'  But  instead  of  moving  she  clung  to  the  framework  of  the  door, 
vowing  that  her  husband  was  innocent,  and  declaring  that  if  he  were 
taken  to  prison  she  would  follow  him.  At  one  moment  she  threatened 
us,  and  called  us  all  sorts  of  names,  and  then  she  began  to  beg  and  pray 
in  her  softest  voice.  But  when  she  perceived  that  nothing  would  pre- 
vent us  from  doing  our  duty,  she  let  go  of  the  door  and  threw  her  arms 
round  her  husband's  neck.  '  Oh  my  poor,  dear  husband  ! '  she  gasped  ; 
'  is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  charged  with  such  a  crime  ?  Tell  these 
men  that  you  are  innocent.'  Her  grief  was  so  great  that  we  all  felt  com- 
passion for  her,  but  Monistrol,  to  our  surprise,  was  ruffian  enough  to 
push  the  poor  little  woman  back,  so  violently  indeed  that  she  fell  all  of 
a  heap  in  a  corner  of  the  room  behind  the  shop.  ,  .  Fortunately, 
that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  woman  had  fainted,  and  we  profited  of  the 
circumstance  to  pack  the  husband  into  the  cab,  which  was  waiting  for 
us  outside.  He  could  scarcely  stand,  much  less  walk,  and  so  we  had 
literally  to  carry  him  into  the  vehicle.  His  dog — a  snarling,  black  mon- 
grel— wanted  to  jump  in  with  us,  and  we  had  all  the  pains  in  the  world 
to  get  rid  of  the  beast.  On  the  way  Goulard  tried  to  revive  the  pris- 
oner and  induce  him  to  talk,  but  we  couldn't  get  him  to  say  a  word.  It 
was  only  on  reaching  the  Prefecture  that  he  seemed  to  recover  his  wits. 
When  he  had  been  properly  stowed  away  in  one  of  the  secret  cells,  he 
flung  himself  on  his  bed,  repeating  '  What  have  I  done  !  Good  God  ! 
What  have  I  done  ?  '  On  hearing  this  Goulard  approached  him,  and  for 
the  second  time,  asked  :  '  So  you  own  that  you  are  guilty  ? '  Monistrol 
nodded  his  head  affirmatively,  and  then  said,  in  a  gasping  voice,  '  Pray 
leave  me  alone.'    We  did  so,  after  placing  a  superintendent  outside  the 


THE  LITTLB  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLBS.  17 

cell,  in  front  ot  the  grating,  so  as  to  be  ready  in  case  the  prisoner  tried 
to  play  any  tricks  with  his  own  life.  Goulard  and  Poltin  remained  at 
the  Prefecture,  and  I  came  on  here  to  report  the  arrest." 

"All  that  is  very  precise,"  muttered  the  commissary;  "very  precise 
indeed." 

Such  was  also  the  magistrate's  opinion,  for  he  murmured,  "  How  can 
any  one  doubt  Monistrol's  guilt  after  that  ? " 

As  for  myself,  I  was  astonished  but  not  convinced,  and  I  was  about 
to  open  my  mouth  to  raise  an  objection  when  M.  Mechinet  forestalled 
me.  "  All  that's  very  well,"  said  he,  "  only  if  we  admit  that  Monistrol 
is  the  murderer,  we  also  have  to  admit  that  he  wrote  his  own  name  there 
on  the  floor,  and  to  my  mind  that's  rather  too  strong  to  be  believed  ! " 

"  Pooh  ! "  rejoined  the  commissary,  "  as  the  prisoner  confesses,  what 
is  the  use  of  troubling  about  a  circumstance  which  will  no  doubt  be  ex- 
plained in  the  course  of  the  investigation  ?  " 

However,  the  detective's  remark  had  rekindled  the  magistrate's  per- 
plexity. "I  shall  go  to  the  Prefecture  at  once,"  he  said,  "and  question 
Monistrol  this  very  night."  Then  after  requesting  the  commissary  to 
stay  and  accomplish  the  remaining  formalities,  pending  the  arrival  of  the 
medical  men  who  had  been  summoned  for  the  post-mortem  examination, 
he  took  his  departure,  followed  by  his  clerk  and  the  agent  who  had  come 
to  announce  Monistrol's  arrest. 

"I  only  hope  those  doctors  won't  keep  me  waiting  too  long,"  growled 
the  commissary,  who  was  thinking  of  his  dinner  ;  and  he  then  began 
to  discharge  his  duties  by  sealing  up  sundry  drawers  and  cupboards 
which  contained  articles  of  value. 

Neither  Mechinet  nor  myself  answered  him.  My  neighbour  and  I 
were  standing  in  front  of  each  other,  evidently  absorbed  in  the  same 
train  of  thought.  "After  all,"  murmured  the  detective,  "after  all, 
perhaps  it  was  the  old  man  who  traced  those  letters. " 

"With  his  left  hand,  then,"  said  I.  "Is  it  likely?  And  besides, 
the  poor  fellow  must  have  died  instantaneously. " 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

"Well,  judging  by  his  wound,  I  would  swear  to  it.  But  the  doctors 
will  soon  be  here,  and  they  will  tell  you  whether  I'm  right  or  wrong. 
Of  course  I  am  but  a  student,  and  they  will  be  able  to  speak  with  more 
authority  than  myself." 

M.  Mechinet  was  worrying  his  nose  with  spurious  pinches  of  snuff  in 
frantic  style.  "Perhaps,"  said  he;  " perhaps  there  is  a  mystery  under- 
neath all  this.  It  is  a  point  to  be  examined.  We  must  start  the  inquiry 
afresh.  And  after  all,  why  not  ?  Well,  let  us  begin  by  questioning  the 
doorkeeper."  With  these  words  he  hurried  out  on  to  the  landing,  and 
leaning  over  the  bannister  of  the  stairs,  exclaimed,  "  Eh  !  doorkeeper, 
doorkeeper,  just  come  up  here,  please," 

V. 

Pending  the  doorkeeper's  appearance,  M.  Mechinet  devoted  his  time 
to  a  rapid  but  sagacious  examination  of  the  scene  of  the  crime.  The 
outer  door  of  the  apartment  particularly  engaged  his  attention.    The 


18  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES. 

lock  was  intact  and  the  key  turned  in  either  sense  without  the  slightest 
difficulty.  It  was  therefore  scarcely  likely  that  a  stranger  had  forced 
his  way  into  the  old  man's  rooms  by  means  of  a  picklock  or  a  false  key. 
Whilst  the  detective  was  thus  occupied  I  returned  into  the  bedroom  to 
pick  up  the  green-sealed  bottle  cork  which  I  had  noticed  lying  on  the 
floor.  I  was  prompted  to  do  this  by  the  new  instinct  so  suddenly  born 
within  me.  On  the  side  of  the  sealing-wax  a  circular,  winding  hole, 
plainly  produced  by  the  tip  of  a  corkscrew,  was  apparent,  whilst  at  the 
other  end,  ruddy  with  the  stain  of  wine,  I  noticed  to  my  surprise  a  deep 
perforation,  such  as  might  be  caused  by  the  blade  of  a  sharp,  finely- 
pointed  weapon.  Instinctively  suspecting  that  this  discovery  might 
have  its  importance,  I  showed  the  cork  to  M.  Mechinet,  who  on  perceiv- 
ing it  could  not  repress  an  exclamation  of  delight.  "  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  at 
last  we  are  on  the  scent.  That  cork  was  evidently  left  here  by  the 
murderer.  He  had  pricked  his  weapon  into  it — either  to  prevent  the 
point  from  wounding  him  whilst  he  carried  it  in  his  pocket,  or  to  keep 
it  sharp  and  prevent  it  from  breaking.  So  the  weapon  was  plainly  a 
dagger  with  a  fixed  handle,  and  not  one  of  those  knives  that  shut  up.  With 
this  cork  I  will  undertake  to  find  the  murderer,  no  matter  who  he  maybe." 

The  commissary  of  police  was  finishing  the  sealing-up  of  the  cupboards 
in  the  bedroom,  and  M.  Mechinet  and  I  were  still  talking  together  in 
the  parlour,  when  a  sound  of  heavy  breathing  interrupted  us.  At  the 
same  moment,  the  portly,  stalwart  crone  whom  I  had  noticed  in  the  hall 
perorating  for  the  benefit  of  the  tenants,  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 
Her  face  was  ruddier  than  ever.  "What  do  you  desire,  sir?"  she  asked, 
looking  at  M.  Mechinet. 

"  Please  sit  down,"  he  replied. 

"  But  I  have  people  waiting  for  me  downstairs,  sir." 

"  They  can  wait.     Just  sit  down." 

M.  Mechinet's  authoritative  tone  evidently  impressed  the  old  woman, 
and  without  more  ado  she  obeyed  him.  "  I  require  certain  informa- 
tion," he  began,  fixing  his  piercing  gray  eyes  on  her's,  "  and  I  am  going 
to  question  you.  In  your  interest  I  advise  you  to  answer  me  frankly. 
As  you  are  the  doorkeeper  of  the  house  you  can  tell  me  the  name  of  this 
unfortunate  old  man  who  has  been  murdered." 

"  His  name  was  Pigoreau,  my  good  sir,  but  he  was  generally  called 
Antenor,  which  was  a  name  he  formerly  took  in  his  business,  as  being 
better  suited  to  it." 

"  Had  he  lived  long  in  this  house  ?  " 

"For  more  than  eight  years,  sir." 

"Where  did  he  live  before  then  ?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  where  he  had  his  shop,  for  he  had  been  a 
hairdresser,  and  it  was  in  that  calling  that  he  made  his  fortune." 

"  So  he  was  rich,  then?  " 

"  Well,  I've  heard  his  niece  say  that  he  wouldn't  let  his  throat  be  cut 
for  a  million  francs." 

The  investigating  magistrate  was  probably  fully  informed  on  this 
point,  for  during  his  sojourn  in  the  house  he  had  gone  carefully  through 
all  the  old  man's  papers. 

"Now,"  resumed  M.  Mechinet,  "what  kind  of  man  was  this  M. 
Pigoreau  alias  Antenor." 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  19 

"  Oh,  the  best  man  in  the  world,  my  good  sir,"  replied  the  doorkeeper. 
"  He  was  a  bit  eccentric  and  obstinate,  but  he  wasn't  proud.  And  when 
he  chose,  he  could  be  so  funny  !  One  might  have  spent  nights  and  nights 
listening  to  him  when  he  was  in  the  humour  to  talk,  for  he  knew  so 
many  stories.  Just  fancy,  he  had  been  a  hairdresser,  and,  as  he  often 
said,  he  had  curled  the  hair  of  all  the  most  beautiful  women  in  Paris." 

"How  did  he  live?" 

"  Like  other  people — like  a  man  living  on  his  income,  but  not  inclined 
to  be  prodigal." 

"  Can't  you  give  me  any  particulars  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  can,  sir,  for  it  was  I  who  cleaned  his  rooms  and  waited 
on  him.  Ah  !  he  didn't  give  me  much  trouble,  for  he  did  a  great  deal 
himself.  He  was  always  sweeping  and  dusting  and  polishing.  That 
was  his  hobby  !  Every  day,  at  twelve  o'clock,  I  used  to  bring  him  up  a 
cup  of  chocolate  and  a  roll  ;  and  on  the  top  of  them  he  would  drink  off 
a  big  glass  of  water  at  one  gulp.  That  was  his  breakfast.  Then  he 
dressed  himself,  and  that  took  him  till  two  o'clock,  for  he  was  very  par- 
ticular about  his  appearance,  and  arrayed  himself  every  day  just  as  if  he 
were  going  to  be  married.  When  he  was  dressed  he  went  out,  and 
strolled  about  Paris  till  six  o'clock,  when  he  used  to  go  and  dine  at  a 
table  d'  h6te,  kept  by  Miles.  Gomet  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  After  din- 
ner he  usually  went  to  the  cafe'  Guerbois,  took  his  cup  of  coffee,  and 
played  his  game  at  cards  with  some  friends  he  used  to  meet  there.  He 
generally  came  home  at  about  eleven  o'clock.  He  had  only  one  fault, 
poor  dear  man  :  he  was  dreadfully  fond  of  the  fair  sex,  and  I  often  used 
to  say  to  him,  '  Come,  Monsieur  Antenor,  aren't  you  ashamed  to  run  after 
women  at  your  age  ? '  But  then  we  are  none  of  us  perfect,  and  after 
all  his  behaviour  wasn't  surprising  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  had  been  a 
fashionable  hairdresser,  and  had  met  with  so  many  favours  in  his  time." 

An  obsequious  smile  curved  the  portly  crone's  thick  lips  as  she  spoke 
on  this  point,  but  M.  M^chinet  remained  as  grave  as  ever.  "  Did  M. 
Pigoreau  receive  many  visitors  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Very  few,  sir.  The  person  who  came  most  frequently  was  his 
nephew,  M.  Monistrol,  whom  he  used  to  invite  to  dine  with  him  every 
Sunday  at  the  restaurant  of  '  Pere  Lathuile  ? '  " 

"  And  on  what  terms  were  they — the  uncle  and  the  nephew  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  were  as  friendly  as  two  fingers  of  the  same  hand." 

"  And  didn't  they  ever  have  any  disputes  together  ?  " 

"  Never  !  Excepting  that  they  always  used  to  disagree  about 

Madame  Clara." 

"  Who  is  this  Madame  Clara  ?  " 

"  Why,  M.  Monistrol's  wife,  to  be  sure,  and  a  superb  creature  she  is, 
too  !  But  with  all  his  love  for  the  sex,  M.  Antenor  couldn't  put  up  with 
her.  He  used  to  tell  his  nephew  that  he  loved  his  wife  too  much,  that 
she  led  him  by  the  nose,  and  deceived  him  just  whenever  she  chose.  He 
pretended  that  she  didn't  love  her  husband,  that  she  had  tastes  above 
her  position,  and  that  she  would  end  one  day  by  doing  something  fool- 
ish. In  fact,  Madame  Clara  and  M.  Antenor  had  quite  a  quarrel  last 
year.  She  wanted  the  old  man  to  lend  M.  Monistrol  a  large  sum,  so 
that  he  might  buy  the  -  goodwill '  of  a  jeweller's  shop  in  the  Palais 
Royal  ;  but  he  refused  to  do  so,  and  said  he  didn't  care  what  was  done 


20  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

with  his  fortune  when  he  was  dead,  but  that  in  the  meantime,  having 
earned  his  money  himself,  he  meant  to  keep  it  and  spend  it  as  he  chose." 

I  thought  that  M.  M^chinet  would  insist  on  this  point,  which  seemed 
to  mc  of  high  importance,  but  to  my  surprise,  and  despite  all  the  signs 
I  made  hiin,  he  did  not  do  so.  "  How  was  the  crime  discovered  ?  "  was 
his  next  question. 

"Why,  it  was  discovered  by  me,  my  good  sir!"  replied  the  door- 
keeper. "Ah  !  it  was  frightful  !  Just  fancy,  at  noon  to-day  I  came 
upstairs  as  usual  with  M.  Antenor's  chocolate.  As  I  waited  on  him  1 
had  a  key  of  his  rooms.  I  opened  the  door,  came  in,  and,  Good  Heav- 
ens !  what  a  sight  I  saw  !  "  So  saying,  the  buxom  dame  gave  vent  to  a 
succession  of  unearthly  whines  and  groans. 

"  Your  grief  shows  that  you  have  a  kind  heart,"  observed  M.  Mechinet 
gravely.  "  Only,  as  I  am  pressed  for  time,  I  must  ask  you  to  master 
it.  Come,  what  did  you  think  when  you  saw  the  old  man  lying  there 
murdered  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  I  told  every  one  that  his  rascally  nephew  had  killed 
him  to  get  hold  of  his  fortune  !  " 

"  How  is  it  you  were  so  certain  on  the  point  ?  For  it  is  a  grave  mat- 
ter to  charge  a  man  with  such  a  crime — it's  sending  him  to  the  scaffold, 
mind." 

' '  But  who  else  could  it  be,  sir  ?  M.  Monistrol  came  to  see  his  uncle 
yesterday  evening,  and  when  he  went  away  it  was  almost  midnight.  I 
thought  it  strange  that  he  didn't  speak  to  me,  even  when  he  came  or 
when  he  left,  for  he  generally  wishes  me  good-day  and  good-bye.  How- 
ever, after  he  went  away  last  night,  and  until  I  discovered  everything 
this  morning,  I'm  quite  sure  that  no  one  else  came  to  see  M.  Antenor." 

This  evidence  fairly  stupefied  me.  I  was  young  then  and  wanting  in 
experience,  and  therefore  thought  it  really  superfluous  to  continue  the 
investigation.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  M.  M6chinet  could  boast  of  very 
extensive  experience  indeed,  and  he  moreover  possessed  the  art  of  coax- 
ing the  whole  truth  out  of  a  witness,  no  matter  however  unwilling. 
"  So,"  said  he  to  the  doorkeeper,  "  you  are  quite  certain  that  Monistrol 
came  here  last  night  ?  " 

"  Quite  certain,  sir." 

"  Then  you  saw  him,  and  recognised  him  ?  " 

"  Ah,  allow  me  !  I  didn't  look  him  in  the  face,  for  he  passed  by  very 
fast,  as  if  he  wished  to  hide  himself,  the  scoundrel !  And  besides,  the 
stairs  are  badly  lighted. " 

I  sprung  from  my  chair  on  hearing  this  answer,  which  struck  me  as 
being  of  very  great  weight  indeed,  and,  advancing  towards  the  door- 
keeper, I  exclaimed,  "  If  that  is  the  case  how  can  you  dare  to  pretend 
that  you  recognised  M.  Monistrol  ?  " 

The  portly  dame  looked  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  and,  with  an  ironical 
smile,  replied,  "  If  I  didn't  see  his  face,  at  least  I  saw  his  dog,  who  was 
with  him.  I  always  treat  the  animal  kindly,  and  so  he  came  into  my 
room,  and  I  was  just  going  to  give  him  a  leg  of  mutton  bone,  when  his 
master  whistled  to  him  from  upstairs." 

I  looked  at  M.  Mechinet  to  know  what  he  thought  of  this  answer,  but 
his  expression  told  no  tales.  He  simply  asked,  ' '  What  kind  of  a  dog  is 
M.  Monistrol's  ?  " 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  IUTIGNOLLES.  21 

"  He's  a  watch  dog,  sir — quite  black,  with  just  one  white  spot  on  the 
top  of  the  head.  M.  Monistrol  calls  him  Pluto.  He's  generally  very- 
savage  with  strangers,  but  then  he  knows  me  well,  for  he  has  always 
been  in  the  habit  of  coming  here  with  his  master,  and  besides,  I've  al- 
ways been  very  kind  to  him. " 

M.  Mechinet  now  rose  from  his  chair.  "  That  will  do,"  said  he  to  the 
doorkeeper  ;  "  you  may  retire.  Thank  you  for  your  information."  And 
as  soon  as  the  woman  had  bustled  out  of  the  room,  he  turned  to  me  ex- 
claiming, "I  really  think  that  the  nephew  must  be  the  guilty  party." 

While  the  doorkeeper's  interrogatory  was  progressing,  the  two  medical 
men  who  had  been  instructed  to  perform  a  post-mortem  examination  of 
the  old  fellow's  body,  had  arrived  and  set  about  their  task  in  the  bed- 
room. I  was  particularly  anxious  to  know  what  would  be  the  result  of 
their  report— the  more  so  as,  despite  my  own  conclusions,  I  feared  they 
might  possibly  disagree.  They  were  certainly  of  very  dissimilar  appear- 
ance and  character  ;  for,  while  one  of  them  was  short  and  fat,  with  a 
round  and  jovial  face,  the  other  was  lank  and  lean,  with  a  grave  and 
pompous  expression  of  countenance.  You  could  not  look  at  them,  in- 
deed, without  at  once  thinking  of  Moliere's  immortal  creations,  "  Doctor 
Tant  Pis  "  and  "  Doctor  Tant  Mieux. "  But,  at  times,  extremes  meet, 
and  at  least  on  this  occasion  this  unmatched  pair  not  merely  met  in  being 
but  in  ideas  and  opinions  as  well.  They  both  took  absolutely  the  same 
view  of  the  case,  and  I  was  delighted,  as  an  amateur  detective,  and 
flattered,  as  a  medical  student,  to  find  that  their  view  exactly  coincided 
with  mine.  Indeed,  their  report  resolved  itself  into  this  :  ' '  The  death 
of  M.  Pigoreau  was  instantaneous.  He  expired  directly  the  knife  or 
dagger  penetrated  his  neck,  and  consequently  he  could  not  possibly  have 
traced  those  five  letters  M  0  N  I  S,  inscribed  on  the  oak  floor  beside  his 
body." 

Thus  I  had  not  been  mistaken,  and  I  turned  with  satisfaction  towards 
M.  Mechinet  to  hear  what  he  would  have  to  say  now.  "Well,  if  the 
old  man  did  not  write  those  letters,"  he  remarked  at  last,  "  who  could 
have  written  them  ?  Not  Monistrol,  I  would  take  my  oath  to  that.  It 
would  be  altogether  too  incredible." 

I  myself  made  no  rejoinder,  but  the  commissary  of  police,  who  was 
delighted  to  be  able  to  go  away  to  his  dinner  after  such  a  long  and  tiring 
task,  overheard  the  words,  and  could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  taunting 
the  detective  for  his  perplexity  and  obstinacy,  which,  to  his  mind,  were 
all  the  more  ridiculous  as  Monistrol  had  confessed  the  crime. 

"Ridiculous?"  ejaculated  M.  Mechinet;  "well,  yes,  perhaps  I  am 
only  a  fool  !  However,  the  future  will  decide  that  point."  And  then, 
abruptly  turning  to  me,  he  added  :  "  Come,  M.  Godeuil,  let  us  go  to- 
gether to  the  Prefecture  of  Police." 

VI. 

We  had  neither  of  us  dined,  but  this  puzzling  affair  so  absorbed  our 
minds  that  we  did  not  even  think  of  feeling  hungry.  On  reaching  the 
street  we  walked  as  far  as  the  outer  boulevard  where  we  engaged 
another  cab  to  take  us  to  the  Prefecture.     While  the  vehicle  rolled  on 


22  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES. 

down  the  Rue  de  Clichy  and  along  the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  crossing  the 
grand  boulevards,  already  all  ablaze  with  light,  and  cutting  through 
numerous  narrow  thoroughfares  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
and  the  Quays,  M.  Mechinet's  fingers  did  not  stop  travelling  from  his 
empty  snuff-box  to  his  nose,  and  vice  versa — so  great  indeed  was  his  pre- 
occupation. Over  and  over  again,  moreover,  I  heard  him  grumble 
between  his  teeth,  "  I  must  find  out  the  truth  ;  I  must,  I  wjll." 

All  of  a  sudden  he  drew  from  his  pocket  the  green-sealed  cork  which 
I  had  handed  to  him,  and  turned  it  over  and  over  like  a  young 
monkey,  who,  in  possession  of  a  nut  for  the  first  time,  asks  himself  how 
he  is  to  get  at  the  kernel.  "  And  yet,"  he  murmured,  "  and  yet  that's 
a  piece  of  evidence.  That  green  sealing-wax  must  be  made  to  tell  us 
something." 

Comfortably  ensconced  in  my  corner,  I  listened  to  him  without  say- 
ing a  word.  My  situation  was  certainly  very  singular,  and  yet  I  did 
not  for  one  moment  think  of  its  peculiarity.  My  mind  was  entirely 
absorbed  in  this  affair,  the  diverse  contradictory  elements  of  which  I 
tried  to  classify  in  my  brain,  turning  to  one  after  the  other  in  hopes  that 
it  would  give  me  the  key  of  the  mystery  which,  to  my  idea,  assuredly 
existed. 

When  our  vehicle  drew  up  on  the  Quai  des  Orfevres  all  around  was 
silent  and  deserted — not  a  sound,  not  a  passer-by.  The  few  shops  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  all  closed,  with  but  one  solitary  exception — a 
little  tavern  and  eating-house,  situated  almost  at  the  corner  of  the 
famous  Rue  de  Jerusalem,  so  long  associated  with  the  repression  of 
crime,  and  the  name  of  which,  synonymous,  so  to  say,  with  the  word 
"police,"  suffices  to  chill  the  blood  of  the  most  hardened  rogues. 
Against  the  red  curtains  of  the  tavern  windows,  which  shone  out  in  the 
dark  night  with  a  fiery  glare,  I  noted  the  shadows  of  numerous  cus- 
tomers— subordinate  officials  of  the  Prefecture,  who  had  profited  of  a 
spare  moment  to  come  out  and  refresh  themselves,  and  detectives,  who, 
after  a  long  day's  arduous  tramp  and  toil,  were  bent  on  restoring  tired 
nature  with  a  crust  and  a  glass  of  wine.  As  we  walked  by,  M.  Mechinet 
just  gave  a  glance  inside,  more  from  habit  than  curiosity  (for,  like  my- 
self, he  was  in  no  mood  to  loiter),  and  then  turned  swiftly  into  the  Rue 
de  Jerusalem. 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  let  you  see  Monistrol  ?  "  I  asked  him,  break- 
ing once  more  into  a  trot  so  as  to  keep  up  with  his  rapid  stride. 

"Certainly  they  will,"  he  answered.  "Am  I  not  entrusted  with 
following  up  the  affair  ?  According  to  the  phases  of  the  investigation, 
I  may  require  to  see  the  prisoner  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night."  And 
then  turning  under  the  dark-arched  entrance  of  the  Prefecture,  he  added, 
"  Come,  come,  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

I  did  not  require  encouragement.  A  strange,  vague  curiosity  filled 
my  mind  as  I  followed  in  his  wake.  This  was  the  first  time  in  my  life 
that  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  Prefecture  de  Police,  against  which 
I  had  hitherto  been  quite  as  prejudiced  as  any  other  Parisian.  Those 
who  study  social  questions  may  well  ask  how  it  happens  that  the  French 
police  are  so  generally  hated  and  despised.  Even  the  ordinary  street 
policeman,  yclept  the  sergent  de  ville,  is  an  object  of  aversion  ;  and  the 
detective,  the  mouchard,  is  loathed  as  intensely  aa  if  he  were  some 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  23 

monstrous  horror,  in  lieu  of  generally  being  a  most  useful  servant  of 
society.  The  deep-rooted  prejudices  that  prevail  among  the  Parisians 
in  reference  to  the  police  are  of  distant  origin,  and  are  no  doubt  due  to 
many  causes ;  but  the  fault  mainly  rests  with  the  successive  govern- 
ments which,  turning  the  force  from  its  original  mission  as  a  guarantee 
of  public  security,  transformed  it  into  a  political  instrument,  utilising 
its  services  for  the  execution  of  the  most  arbitrary  measures,  and  fre- 
quently placing  it  under  the  control  of  low-minded,  immoral  men.  The 
unpopularity  of  Voyer  d'Argenson  duly  fell  on  the  "exempt"  of  the 
ancien  regime;  and  besides,  the  hateful  Bastille  and  the  odious  lettre  de 
cachet  would  alone  have  sufficed  to  make  the  police  an  object  of  aversion 
md  terror  in  those  times.  Under  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration  the 
service  could  not  possibly  hope  for  rehabilitation,  for  was  it  not  under 
the  control  of  the  arch-traitor  Fouche,  as  arrant  a  scoundrel  as  any  of 
the  criminals  his  subordinates  were  employed  to  track  ?  And  in  the 
days  of  Vidocq,  moreover,  when  the  maxim  "set  a  thief  to  catch  a 
thief  "  was  put  into  practice,  and  when  the  "  security  "  of  the  Parisians 
was  entrusted  to  a  band  of  knaves,  all  respect  for  the  police  beame  quite 
out  of  the  question.  Even  when  the  force  was  thoroughly  re-organised, 
the  stain  of  former  times  clung  to  it  persistently,  and  a  new  form  of  un- 
popularity awaited  it  when  the  Third  Napoleon  made  the  Prefecture  the 
head-quarters  of  his  system  of  government.  The  ferocity  displayed  by 
many  aergents  de  ville  in  days  of  popular  turmoil,  the  hateful  practices  of 
the  political  mouchards,  the  invention  of  spurious  plots  and  riots,  ' '  got 
up  "  to  terrify  the  provinces  and  justify  acts  of  repression — all  combined 
to  throw  odium  on  the  force.  It  should  be  mentioned,  however,  that 
the  Parisian  in  his  aversion  for  the  police  often  acts  without  discern- 
ment. He  takes  all  the  sergents  de  ville  or  gardiens  de  la  paix  to  be  of 
one  and  the  same  class  and  character,  forgetting  that  it  is  mainly  the 
Central  Brigade  that  is  employed  on  political  duty.  This  Central  Brigade, 
indeed,  does  not  perform  ordinary  strict  service,  but  is  always  at  the 
prefect's  disposal  to  be  dispatched  to  any  part  of  the  capital  where 
occasion  may  require.  To  the  "  Centrale  "  is  assigned  the  sad  privilege 
of  charging  the  crowd,  ill-treating  inoffensive  passers-by,  and  overturn- 
ing women  and  children  on  days  of  popular  effervescence.  But  the 
other  brigades,  to  which  are  entrusted  the  protection  of  property  and 
the  safety  of  citizens,  are  composed  of  men  of  a  very  different  stamp— 
men  who  behave  reluctantly  and  with  moderation  when  necessity  com- 
pels them  to  assist  the  "Centrale"  in  the  performance  of  some  political 
task  ;  men  whose  main  object  and  desire  is  to  prevent  the  perpetration 
of  crime  and  to  bring  evil-doers  to  book.  But  then,  lucklessly  for  them, 
they  wear  the  same  uniform  as  their  colleagues  of  the  "Centrale,"  and 
the  Parisian  confounds  the  whole  force  in  his  blind  aversion.  He 
blunders  in  the  same  way  respecting  the  detectives — forgetting  that 
there  is  the  criminal  service  and  the  political  service,  and  that  the  two 
are  utterly  distinct.  To  him  the  mouchard  is  invariably  an  unprincipled, 
eavesdropping  knave,  who  earns  his  living  by  prying  into  other  people's 
secrets  and  denouncing  them  to  his  employers.  He  habitually  pictures 
the  detective  as  a  man  who  slinks  along  the  boulevard  trying  to  overhear 
what  the  promenaders  are  talking  about,  or  who  lingers  half  asleep  in 
the  corner  of  a  caf<5  bent  on  listening  to  the  conversation  of  the  customers. 


24  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

The  mouchard,  to  his  idea,  is  invariably  the  man  who  questions  your 
doorkeeper,  or  concierge,  concerning  your  antecedents,  your  trade  or 
profession,  your  income,  and  your  mode  of  living,  and  who,  if  your 
opinions  are  not  perfectly  orthodox,  marks  a  cross  against  your  name, 
signifying  that  you  are  to  be  watched  and  "run  in"  as  soon  as  an 
opportunity  for  political  repression  presents  itself.  The  Parisian  does 
not  realise,  and  yet  he  certainly  should  know  it,  that  there  are  other 
detectives  of  a  very  different  stamp — men  like  the  great  Monsieur 
Lecoq  and  the  eminent  Monsieur  Mechinet,  who  in  their  whole  career 
never  do  one  day's  political  service,  but,  on  the  contrary,  spend  their 
lives  constantly  tracking  crime  and  unravelling  fraud — risking  incredible 
dangers,  often  wounded,  and  at  times  even  killed  in  the  performance  of 
their  duty,  and  yet  always  ready  and  willing  to  undertake  any  task, 
however  perilous,  to  ensure  the  safety  of  society  and  bring  offenders  to 
book.  That  those  men,  who  truly  constitute  the  ' '  strong  arm  of  the 
law,"  and  thanks  to  whose  energy  and  enterprise  Parisian  crime  is  so 
swiftly  and  certainly  punished,  should  be  confounded  with  the  obnoxious, 
political  mouchard,  is  an  act  of  utter  ingratitude  and  injustice  ;  but  then 
Paris,  although  priding  itself  on  its  common  sense,  is  unfortunately  too 
impulsive,  too  prejudiced,  and  too  apt  to  draw  sweeping  conclusions,  to 
perceive  the  difference — vast  as  it  may  be. 

As  I  followed  M.  Mechinet  that  night  into  the  head-quarters  of  the 
criminal  service,  the  main  "points"  of  this  long  but  I  think  not  useless 
digression  flashed  through  my  mind  in  a  twentieth  part  of  the  time  it 
has  taken  me  to  jot  them  down.  I  realised  the  folly  of  the  prejudices  I 
had  shared  with  so  many  others,  and  as  my  neighbour  walked  on  in 
front  of  me  he  seemed  to  grow  in  height,  importance,  and  dignity. 
Here,  then,  was  one  of  those  men  who  devote  themselves  to  the  most 
arduous  profession  that  can  exist,  and  who,  for  the  dangers  they  brave, 
and  the  services  they  render,  only  reap  contumely  and  contempt.  For 
what  is  their  modest  stipend  ?  It  barely  suffices  for  their  every-day 
wants,  and  does  not  permit  of  laying  money  by,  so  that  a  scanty  pension, 
only  acquired  after  long,  long  years  of  toil  and  peril,  becomes  their  sole 
resource,  in  their  old  age.  I  was  so  immersed  in  thought  of  this  char- 
acter, as  my  neighbour  and  I  entered  the  Prefecture,  that  I  forgot  to 
look  where  I  was  walking,  but  a  sudden  stumble  against  a  projecting 
angle  of  the  pavement  at  last  brought  me  back  to  reality.  "  So,  here  is 
the  secret  of  Paris  !  "  I  muttered,  glancing  at  the  damp  blank  walls  of 
the  passage  we  had  entered,  "  Ah,  if  those  stones  could  only  talk,  what 
stories  they  would  have  to  tell." 

At  this  moment,  we  reached  a  little  room  where  a  couple  of  men  sat 
playing  cards,  whilst  three  or  four  others  lounged  on  a  camp  bedstead, 
smoking  their  pipes.  M.  Mechinet  went  inside,  and  I  waited  on  the 
threshold.  He  and  one  of  the  cardplayers  exchanged  a  few  words, 
which  did  not  reach  me,  and  then  he  came  out  again,  and  once  more 
bade  me  follow  him.  After  crossing  a  courtyard  and  hurrying  down 
another  passage,  we  found  ourselves  in  front  of  a  formidable  iron  gate, 
with  massive  close-fitting  bars,  weighty  bolts,  and  a  huge  lock.  At  a 
word  from  M.  Mechinet  a  keeper  opened  this  gate,  and  then,  leaving  on 
our  right  hand  a  spacious  guard-room,  where  a  number  of  sergents  de 
ville  and  gardes  de  Paris  were  assembled,  we  climbed  a  very  precipitous 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  25 

flight  of  stairs.  On  the  landing  above,  at  the  entry  of  a  narrow  pas- 
sage lined  with  a  number  of  little  doors,  we  found  a  tall,  fat,  jovial- 
featured  individual,  who  in  no  wise  resembled  the  gaoler  usually 
read  of  in  novels.  "Hallo  !  "  exclaimed  this  smiling  colossus.  "Why 
it's  Monsieur  Mechinet ! "  And  with  a  self-satisfied  chuckle  he  added, 
"  To  say  the  truth  I  half  expected  you  ;  come,  I  bet  you  want  to  see 
the  fellow  who  has  been  arrested  for  murdering  the  little  old  man  of 
Batignolles  ?  " 

"  Quite  so.     Is  there  anything  new,  pray  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  the  investigating  magistrate  must  have  been  here  ?  " 

' '  Oh,  yes  ;  in  fact  he  only  left  a  few  minutes  ago. " 

"  Ah  !  did  you  hear  him  say  anything? " 

' '  Well,  he  only  remained  two  or  three  minutes  with  the  prisoner, 
and  he  looked  delighted  when  he  left  the  cell.  He  met  the  governor  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and  I  heard  him  say,  '  That  fellow's  account  is 
as  good  as  settled.     He  didn't  even  venture  to  deny  his  guilt.'  " 

On  hearing  this,  M.  Mechinet  almost  bounded  from  the  floor,  but  the 
gaoler  seemingly  failed  to  notice  his  surprise,  calmly  resuming,  "I 
wasn't  particularly  astonished  when  I  heard  that,  for  directly  the 
fellow  was  brought  to  me,  I  said  to  myself,  "  Here's  a  chap  who  won't 
know  how  to  plan  a  defence." 

"  And  what  is  he  doing  now,  pray  ?  " 

"  Well,  he's  lamenting — sobbing  and  crying  as  if  he  were  a  baby  in 
long  clothes.  I  was  instructed  to  watch  him,  so  as  to  prevent  him  from 
committing  suicide,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  I  perform  my  duty  ;  but, 
between  you  and  I,  watching  is  quite  useless,  I've  taken  his  measure 
properly  enough.  He's  only  crying  because  he's  afraid  of  the  guillotine. 
He's  one  of  those  chaps  who  are  more  anxious  about  their  own  skins, 
than  about  other  persons'." 

"Well,  let's  go  and  see  him,"  interrupted  M.  Mechinet.  "And 
above  everything  pray  don't  make  a  noise. " 

Thereupon,  we  all  three  turned  round  and  walked  on  tiptoe  to  a  door 
hard  by.  At  the  height  of  a  man's  head,  a  barred  aperture  had  been  cut  in 
the  stout  oak  panelling,  so  that  the  interior  of  the  cell,  badly  lighted 
by  a  single  gas  burner,  could  be  viewed  from  the  passage.  The  gaoler 
gave  a  glance  inside,  M.  Mechinet  did  the  same,  and  then  my  turn 
followed.  On  a  narrow  iron  bedstead,  covered  with  a  grey  blanket  with 
yellow  stripes,  I  could  perceive  a  man  extended  on  his  stomach,  with 
his  head  buried  in  his  hands.  He  was  weeping,  and  his  sobs  were 
plainly  audible.  At  times  he  quivered  from  head  to  foot  with  a  kind  of 
convulsive  spasm  ;  but  otherwise  he  did  not  move. 

"You  may  open  the  door  now,"  said  M.  Mechinet  to  the  keeper,  after 
a  moment's  pause. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  we  all  three  walked  into  the  cell.  On  hearing 
the  key  grate  in  the  lock,  the  prisoner  had  raised  himself  to  a  sitting 
position,  and  now,  with  drooping  arms  and  legs,  and  with  his  head 
leaning  on  his  chest,  he  looked  at  us  as  if  either  stupefied  or  idotic.  He 
was  from  five  to  eight  and  thirty  years  of  age,  rather  above  the  medium 
height,  with  a  broad  chest,  and  a  short  apopletic  neck.  He  was  not  a 
handsome  man  ;  far  from  it,  for  he  had  been  grievously  disfigured  by 


2f!  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

the  small -pox,  and  besides,  his  retreating  forehead  and  long  nose  gave 
him  altogether  a  simple,  sheepish  look.  However,  his  blue  eyes  were 
very  soft  and  winning,  and  his  teeth  were  remarkably  white  and  well  set. 

"  What  ?  monsieur  Monistrol !  "  began  my  neighbour  on  entering  the 
cell.  "  What  !  you  are  worrying  yourself  like  that?  "  And  he  paused 
as  if  respecting  a  reply.  But  finding  the  unfortunate  man  speechless, 
he  determined  to  tackle  him  in  a  different  fashion.  "  Come,  come,"  he 
accordingly  resumed.  "I  agree  that  the  situation  isn't  very  lively; 
and  yet,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  like  to  prove  that  I'm  a  man. 
I  should  try  to  curb  my  grief,  and  set  about  proving  my  innocence." 

"  But  I  am  not  innocent,"  answered  the  prisoner,  in  a  savage  tone. 

This  time  equivocation  was  out  of  place.  There  was  apparently  no 
longer  any  room  left  for  doubt,  for  it  was  from  Monistrol's  own  lips 
that  we  obtained  this  terrible  confession.  And  yetM.  Mechinet  seemed 
scarcely  satisfied.     "What!  "  asked  he,  "was  it  really  you?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  I,"  interrupted  the  prisoner,  springing  to  his  feet  with 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  foaming  mouth,  as  if  he  were  seized  with  a  sudden 
attack  of  madness.  "  It  was  I — I  alone.  How  many  more  times  must 
I  repeat  it  ?  Why  only  a  little  while  ago,  a  judge  came  here  and  I  con- 
fessed everything  to  him,  and  even  signed  my  confession.  What  more 
do  you  want?  Oh,  I  know  what's  in  store  for  me,  and  pray  don't  fancy 
that  I'm  afraid  !  Having  killed,  I  must  be  killed  in  my  turn  as  well ; 
so  chop  off  my  head,  and  the  sooner  you  do  it,  the  better  ! " 

Although,  at  first,  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this  violent  outburst, 
M.  Mechinet  promptly  recovered  himself.  "  Come,  come,"  said  he. 
"  Wait  a  minute  pray.  People  are  not  guillotined  like  that.  First  of 
all,  they  must  be  proved  to  be  guilty.  And  then,  justice  takes  due 
account  of  certain  disorders  of  the  mind,  of  certain  sufferings  and  im- 
pulses— fatalities  if  you  like — and  it  was  indeed  for  that  reason,  that 
'  extenuating  circumstances'  were  invented." 

Monistrol's  only  reply  was  a  long,  low  groan  of  mental  agony. 

"  Now  answer  me,"  resumed  M.  Mechinet.  "Did  you  really  hate 
your  uncle  so  much  as  all  that  ? '' 

"Oh,  no,"  promptly  answrered  the  prisoner. 

"  Well,  then,  why  did  you  kill  him?  " 

"  I  wanted  his  fortune,"  replied  Monistrol  in  a  panting  voice.  "  My 
business  was  going  to  rack  and  ruin.  You  may  make  enquiries  on  that 
point.  I  needed  money  ;  and  although  my  uncle  was  very  rich,  he 
wouldn't  assist  me. " 

"I  understand,"  rejoined  M.  Mechinet.  "And  you  hoped  that  you 
would  escape  detection?" 

"  Yes,  I  hoped  so." 

At  this  point,  I  began  to  understand  why  my  neighbour  was  conduct- 
ing the  interrogatory  in  this  desultory  fashion,  which  at  first  had  so 
surprised  me,  and  I  guessed  what  kind  of  trap  he  was  preparing  for  the 
prisoner.  Indeed,  the  very  next  moment  lie  curtly  asked,  "  By  the 
way,  where  did  you  buy  the  revolver  you  shot  your  uncle  with  ? " 

I  looked  eagerly  and  anxiously  at  Monistrol,  but  he  did  not  evince  thfl 
least  surprise.     "  Oh,  I  had  it  by  me  for  some  years,"  he  replied. 

"  And  what  did  you  do  with  it,  pray,  after  committing  the  crime  ?  " 

"  I  threw  it  away         on  the  outer  boulevard. " 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  J3ATIG.N OLL1S.  27 

"  Very  good.  I  will  have  a  search  made,  and  no  doubt  we  shall  be 
able  to  find  the  person  who  must  have  picked  it  up." 

While  M.  M6chinet  spoke  in  this  fashion — deliberately  lying  in  order 
to  arrive  at  the  truth — his  features  retained  an  expression  of  imperturb- 
able gravity.  "  What  I  can't  understand,"  added  he,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  is  that  you  should  have  taken  your  dog  with  you." 

"  What  !  my  dog  !  "  ejaculated  the  prisoner,  with  an  air  of  genuine 
surprise. 

"Ay,  your  dog,         Pluto.  The  doorkeeper  recognised  him." 

Monistrol  clenched  his  fists,  and  his  lips  parted  as  if  he  were  about  to 
make  some  savage  rejoinder,  but  at  the  same  moment  a  new  thought 
evidently  darted  through  his  mind,  and  he  flung  himself  once  more  on 
his  bed,  exclaiming,  in  a  tone  of  resolution,  "That's  enough  torture; 
come,  leave  me  to  myself.     At  all  events,  I  sha'n't  answer  any  more." 

As  he  was  plainly  bent  on  keeping  his  word,  M.  M6chinet  refrained 
from  insisting,  and  we  left  the  cell  together.  We  went  silently  down- 
stairs, and  crossed  the  passages  and  courtyards  of  the  Prefecture,  with- 
out exchanging  a  remark.  But  when  we  reached  the  quay,  I  could 
control  my  thoughts  no  longer.  "Well,  what  do  you  think  now?"  I 
asked,  catching  my  neighbour  by  the  arm.  "  You  heard  what  that  un- 
fortunate fellow  said.  He  pretends  to  be  guilty,  and  yet  he  doesn't  even 
know  how  his  uncle  was  killed.  That  question  about  the  revolver  was 
a  stroke  of  genius  on  your  part.  How  readily  he  fell  into  the  trap  ! 
After  that,  it's  plain  enough  that  he's  innocent  ;  for,  otherwise,  he  would 
have  told  us  that  he  did  the  deed  with  a  dagger,  and  not  with  a  re- 
volver, as  you  pretended." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  answered  the  detective,  and  then,  with  a  sceptical  air, 
he  added,  "After  all,  who  knows?  I've  met  with  so  many  actors  in 
my  time.  But,  at  all  events,  that's  enough  for  to-day.  Let  us  go  home. 
You  must  come  and  eat  a  mouthful  at  my  place.  To-morrow,  when  it's 
daylight,  we'll  continue  our  inquiry. " 

VII. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  M.  M<5chinet,  still  followed  by  myself, 
rung  at  the  door  of  his  lodgings.  "  I  never  carry  a  key,"  he  said  to  me, 
"  for  in  our  cursed  trade  no  one  knows  what  may  happen.  There  are  so 
many  scoundrels  who  owe  me  a  grudge,  and  besides,  if  I  am  not  always 
prudent  as  concerns  myself,  I  must  be  so  for  my  wife." 

My  neighbour's  explanation  was  superfluous,  for  I  fully  realised  the 
dangers  to  which  he  must  be  exposed.  And  moreover,  when  I  was  pre- 
viously watching  him  with  the  view  of  penetrating  the  secret  of  his 
seemingly  mysterious  life,  I  had  already  noticed  that  he  rung  at  his  door 
in  a  peculiar  manner,  evidently  preconcerted  between  his  wife  and  him- 
self. 

The  bell  was  answered  by  pretty  Madame  Mechinet  in  person.  With 
feline  agility  and  grace,  she  flung  her  arms  round  her  husband's  neck, 
cave  him  a  pair  of  passionate  kisses,  and  gaily  exclaimed,  "Ah,  so  here 
you  are  at  last  !     I  don't  know  why,  but  I  almost  felt  uneasy.  " 

But  all  of  a  sudden  she  paused,  her  bright  smile  died  away,  her  brow 


28  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

lowered,  and,  loosening  her  hold  around  her  husband's  neck,  she  drew 
several  paces  back.  The  fact  is,  that  she  had  just  caught  sight  of  me, 
standing  close  by,  on  the  threshold.  That  Monsieur  M6chinet  and  my- 
self should  return  together  at  the  same  time — and  so  late  at  night — 
seemed  to  her  a  most  suspicious  circumstance.  "What  !  have  you  only 
just  left  the  cafe1  ?  "  she  asked,  speaking  as  much  to  me  as  to  her 
husband.  "  You  have  been  there  up  till  ten  o'clock  at  night  ?  Really, 
that's  too  bad  !  .     " 

I  turned  to  my  neighbour  for  his  reply.  An  indulgent  smile  nickered 
on  his  lips,  and  his  attitude  was  that  of  a  man  who,  confident  in  his 
wife's  trustfulness,  knows  that  he  need  only  say  one  word  to  quiet  her 
ruffled  mind.  "  Don't  be  angry  with  us,  Caroline,"  he  exclaimed,  thus 
associating  me  with  his  own  cause.  "  We  left  the  caf6  hours  ago,  and 
we  haven't  been  wasting  our  time.  The  fact  is,  I  was  fetched  away  on 
business — for  a  murder  committed  at  B"vtignolles." 

On  hearing  this,  Madame  M6chinet  glaaced  suspiciously  at  both  of  us, 
and  then,  seemingly  convinced  that  she  was  not  being  deceived,  she 
curtly  ejaculated,  "Ah  !  " 

The  exclamation  was  brief  enough,  and  yet  it  was  full  of  meaning.  It 
was  evidently  addressed  to  her  husband,  and  signified,  "So  you  have 
confided  in  that  young  man  ?  You  have  made  him  acquainted  with  your 
profession,  and  you  have  revealed  our  secrets  to  him  ?  "  At  least,  that 
is  how  I  understood  the  word,  and  my  neighbour  plainly  construed  its 
meaning  in  the  same  style,  for  he  impetuously  answered,  "Well,  yes, 
M.  Godeuil  has  been  with  me  this  evening.  And  pray,  where's  the 
harm  ?  If  I  have  to  fear  the  scoundrels  whom  I've  handed  up  to  justice, 
what  need  I  fear  from  honest  folks  ?  Do  you  think,  my  dear,  that  I 
hide  myself — that  I  am  ashamed  of  my  profession  ?  " 

"  You  misunderstood  me,  dear,"  objected  Madame  M6chinet. 

But  her  husband  did  not  even  hear  her.  He  had  already  sprung  on  to 
his  favourite  hobby,  and,  once  astride,  he  was  not  easily  persuaded  to 
dismount.  "  Now,  really,"  said  he,  "you  have  most  singular  ideas,  my 
love.  What  !  Here  am  I,  a  sentinel  at  the  advanced  posts  of  civilisa- 
tion. I  sacrifice  my  peace  of  mind,  and  risk  my  life  to  ensure  the  safety 
of  society,  and  yet  you  think  I  ought  to  blush  for  my  profession  !  It 
would  be  altogether  too  comical.  You  may  tell  me  that  there  are  a  lot 
of  foolish  prejudices  abroad  respecting  the  police.  No  doubt  there  are, 
but  what  do  I  care  for  them  ?  Oh  !  I  know  that  there  are  a  number  of  sus- 
ceptible folks  who  pretend  to  look  down  on  us.  But,  sacrebleu,  I  should 
like  to  see  their  faces,  if  my  colleagues  and  myself  were  only  to  go  on 
strike  for  a  single  day,  leaving  Paris  at  the  mercy  of  the  legion  of  scoun- 
drels whom  we  keep  in  respect." 

Madame  M6chinet  was  no  doubt  accustomed  to  outbursts  of  this  kind, 
for  she  did  not  answer  a  word  ;  and  indeed  she  acted  wisely,  for  as  soon 
as  my  neighbour  perceived  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  his  being  con- 
tradicted, he  calmed  down  with  surprising  promptness.  "Well,  that'll 
do,"  said  he  ;  "  just  now  we  have  a  more  pressing  matter  to  deal  with. 
We  have  neither  of  us  dined,  we  are  dying  of  hunger,  and  we  should  be 
glad  to  know  if  you  have  anything  to  give  us  to  eat." 

Plainly  enough,  Madame  M6chinet  often  had  to  cope  with  similar 
emergencies,  for,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  she  readily  answered,  "Ydu 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  29 

shall  be  served  in  five  minutes."  And  in  fact,  a  moment  later  we  were 
seated  at  table  before  a  succulent  joint  of  cold  beef  ;  while  my  neigh- 
bour's wife  filled  our  glasses  with  one  of  those  bright-coloured,  refresh- 
ing wines,  for  which  Macon  enjoys  renown.  While  M.  M^chinet  plied 
knife  and  fork  with  amazing  earnestness,  I  glanced  round  the  cosy  little 
room,  and  stole  a  look  at  plump,  pleasant-faced  Madame  Caroline,  so 
attentive  and  so  full  of  spirits — asking  myself  if  this  were  really  the  abode 
of  one  of  those  "  ferocious  "  detectives,  so  erroneously  portrayed  by  ig- 
norant novelists.  However,  the  first  requirements  of  hunger  were  soon 
appeased,  and  M.  Mechinet  then  began  to  relate  our  expedition  to  his 
wife.  He  spoke  with  great  precision,  entering  into  the  most  minute 
particulars  ;  and,  seated  beside  him,  she  listened  with  an  air  of  shrewd 
sagacity,  interrupting  him  every  now  and  then  to  ask  for  explanations 
on  some  obscure  point,  but  without  expressing  any  opinion  of  her  own. 
However,  I  divined  that  her  own  views  were  to  come,  for,  plainly 
enough,  I  was  in  presence  of  one  of  those  homely  Egerias,  who  are  not 
merely  accustomed  to  be  consulted,  but  are  also  wont  to  give  advice— 
and  to  see  that  advice  followed.  In  fact,  as  soon  as  M.  Mechinet  had 
finished  his  narrative,  she  drew  herself  up,  and  exclaimed,  "  You  have 
made  one  very  great  blunder,  and,  to  my  mind,  an  irreparable  one." 

"  And  what  is  that,  pray  1 " 

' '  Why,  on  leaving  Batignolles,  you  ought  not  to  have  gone  to  the 
Prefecture." 

"  But  Monistrol. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  know  ;  you  wanted  to  question  him.  But  what  was  the 
use  of  it?" 

"Well,  my  examination  enlightened  me- — " 

"  Not  at  all.  Instead  of  going  to  head-quarters  you  should  have 
hurried  to  the  Rue  Vivienne,  have  seen  the  wife  and  questioned  her. 
You  would  have  surprised  her  while  she  was  still  under  the  effects  of 
the  emotion  which  her  husband's  arrest  must  necessarily  have  caused 
her ;  and  if  she  was  an  accomplice  in  the  crime,  as  must  be  supposed, 
you  might,  with  a  little  skill,  have  easily  made  her  confess." 

On  hearing  this  I  almost  sprung  from  my  chair  with  surprise.  "What?'1 
cried  I.     "  Do  you  really  think  that  Monistrol  is  guilty,  madame?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied,  "Yes,  I  fancy  so." 
On  hearing  that,  I  wished  to  urge  my  own  views  of  the  case,  but  she 
prevented  me  from  doing  so  by  swiftly  resuming :  "  One  thing  I'm 
certain  of — positively  certain — the  idea  of  that  murder  came  from 
Monistrol's  wife.  Of  every  twenty  crimes  that  men  commit,  fifteen  are 
certainly  planned  or  inspired  by  women.  Just  ask  my  husband  if  that 
is  not  the  case.  And  besides,  you  ought  to  have  been  enlightened  by 
the  statements  which  the  doorkeeper  at  Batignolles  made.  Who  is  this 
Madame  Monistrol  ?  You  were  told  that  she  is  very  beautiful,  very 
coquettish  and  ambitious,  hankering  after  wealth,  and  wont  to  lead  her 
husband  by  the  nose.  Now  what  was  her  position  prior  to  the  crime  ? 
Was  it  not  needy,  straightened,  and  precarious?  She  was  greatly 
vexed  no  doubt ;  she  suffered  acutely  at  not  being  able  to  satisfy  her 
tastes  for  expense  ;  and  we  find  proof  of  that  in  the  fact  that  she  asked 
her  husband's  uncle  to  lend  them  a  large  sum.  The  old  man  refused  to 
do  so  and  all  her  hopes  were  crushed.    She  must  have  hated  feim  after 


30  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

that ;  and  no  doubt  she  often  said  to  herself,  '  If  that  old  miser  only 
died,  we  should  be  in  comfortable  circumstances.'  But  the  old  man  still 
lived  on ;  he  was  hale  and  hearty  yet,  and  his  fortune  seemed  a  long 
way  off.  She  no  doubt  asked  herself,  'Is  he  going  to  live  a  hundred 
years  ?  Why,  at  this  rate,  when  he  dies  we  shall  have  no  teeth  left, 
and  besides,  who  can  tell,  perhaps  he  means  to  bury  us. '  That  was  un- 
doubtedly her  starting  point.  With  such  ideas  in  her  head  she  was  led 
by  a  natural  gradation  to  think  of  committing  a  crime.  And  when  she 
had  determined  in  her  own  mind  that,  as  the  old  man  would  not  take 
himself  off  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  he  must  be  got  rid  of  by 
foul  means,  she  no  doubt  began  to  weigh  on  her  husband,  inspiring  him 
with  the  idea  of  murder,  and  seeking  to  silence  his  qualms  of  conscience, 
till  at  last,  when  all  was  ripe,  she  virtually  put  the  knife  in  his  hand. 
Threatened  with  bankruptcy,  maddened  by  his  wife's  lamentations,  the 
unfortunate  fellow  started  off,  and  murdered  his  uncle  in  a  foolish, 
blundering  manner  no  doubt,  and  without  even  thinking  of  the  conse- 
quences that  might  overtake  himself." 

"All  that  is  logical  enough,"  opined  M.  Mechinet,  when  his  wife, 
who  had  worked  herself  into  a  state  of  considerable  excitement  whilst 
speaking,  at  length  brought  her  address  to  a  close. 

Logical — yes,  no  doubt  it  was  ;  but  then,  what  became  of  the  various 
particulars  we  had  noted  ?  I  could  not  forget  my  own  observations  at 
Batignolles  ;  and  so,  turning  to  Madame  Mechinet,  I  asked  her,  "Then 
you  think  that  Monistrol  was  fool  enough  to  denounce  himself  by  writ- 
ing his  own  name  in  blood,  on  the  floor  ?  " 

"Fool  enough?"  she  answered,  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
"But  come  now,  was  it  such  an  act  of  folly  after  all?  I  myself  don't 
think  so  ;  for  it  is  this  very  circumstance  that  constitutes  your  greatest 
argument  in  favour  of  his  innocence." 

This  reasoning  was  so  specious  that  I  was  for  a  moment  disconcerted. 
"  But  he  confesses  his  guilt,"  I  urged,  as  soon  as  I  recovered  myself. 

"  Well,  that's  an  excellent  system  to  induce  the  police  to  establish 
his  innocence." 

"Oh,  madame!" 

' '  Why,  you  yourself  are  proof  of  that,  Monsieur  Godeuil. " 

"But  the  unfortunate  fellow  doesn't  even  know  how  his  uncle  was 
murdered. " 

"  Excuse  me,  suppose  he  only  pretended  that  he  didn't  know  it — that 
would  be  a  very  different  thing." 

My  discussion  with  Madame  Mechinet  was  becoming  heated,  and  no 
doubt  it  would  have  lasted  some  time  longer,  if  at  this  point  her  husband 
had  not  thought  fit  to  intervene.  "Come,  come,  Caroline,"  said  he, 
"  you  are  really  too  romantic  to-night."  And  speaking  to  me,  he 
added,  "I  will  knock  at  your  door  to-morrow  morning,  and  we  will  go 
together  to  see  Madame  Monistrol.  For  the  present,  good-night.  I'm 
quite  tired  and  half  asleep  already. " 

He  was  a  happy  man,  my  neighbour,  to  be  able  to  sleep  in  blissful 
forgetfubiess  of  the  problem  waiting  to  be  solved.  No  doubt  he  had 
only  acquired  this  faculty  of  isolating  his  mind  from  his  daily  labours 
after  long  years  of  practice  and  experience.  He  had  had  to  deal  with 
so  many  crimes  before,  he  bad  had.  to  investigate  such  strange,  mya* 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  31 

terkras  cases,  and  almost  invariably  with  satisfactory  results,  that  he 
probably  considered  it  futile  to  rack  his  mind,  at  night-time,  anent 
such  an  affair  as  this  ;  knowing  well  enough  that  when  he  awoke  re- 
freshed on  the  morrow,  he  would  be  able  to  weigh  and  estimate  all  the 
accumulated  items  of  evidence  with  a  clear  head.  But  then,  I  was 
very  differently  situated  ;  I  stood  on  the  threshold  of  terra  incognita, 
too  absorbed  and  perplexed  for  my  thoughts  to  allow  me  a  moment's 
rest.  Thus  I  did  not  close  my  eyes  all  night.  A  mysterious  voice 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  innermost  recesses  of  my  being  and  murmur, 
"  Monistrol  is  innocent ! "  I  pictured  to  myself  the  unfortunate  fellow's 
sufferings  as  he  lay  extended  on  his  camp  bedstead  at  the  Depot ;  and  at 
the  thought  that  his  agony  was  perhaps  undeserved  my  heart  softened 
with  compassion.  But  then,  in  the  midst  of  these  phases  of  pity,  the 
same  question  invariably  returned  to  my  mind,  rekindling  all  my  perplex- 
ity, "  If  Monistrol  were  really  innocent,  why  had  he  pleaded  guilty?  " 


vni. 

What  lacked  me  in  those  days— as  I  subsequently  had  a  hundred  oc- 
casions of  observing — was  experience,  professional  practice,  and  exact 
knowledge  of  the  means  of  investigation  at  the  disposal  of  the  police. 
I  vaguely  realised  that  this  inquiry  had  been  conducted  in  a  far  too  hap- 
hazard, superficial  manner  ;  but  1  should  have  been  greatly  embarrassed 
had  I  been  called  upon  to  point  out  the  mistakes  that  had  been  made, 
or  to  say  what  ought  to  have  been  done.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  I 
took,  as  I  have  already  said,  a  passionate  interest  in  Monistrol.  It 
indeed  seemed  to  me  as  if  his  cause  were  mine  ;  and,  after  all,  the  feel- 
ing was  but  a  natural  one,  for  was  not  my  own  reputation  for  acumen  at 
stake  ?  The  first  doubt  concerning  his  guilt  had  been  occasioned  by  an 
observation  I  myself  had  made,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  now 
bound  to  prove  his  innocence. 

But  then  my  discussion  with  Madame  Me'chinet,  and  the  latter's  ro- 
mantic and  yet  not  illogical  theories,  had  so  disconcerted  me  that  1  did 
not  know  what  fact  to  select  for  the  foundation  of  my  defence.  At  each 
circumstance  I  turned  to  I  was  met  by  Madame  Caroline's  objections, 
and  I  wandered  restlessly  from  one  to  the  other  without  knowing  at 
which  to  pause.  As  always  happens  when  the  mind  is  applied  during 
too  long  a  time  to  the  solution  of  a  problem,  my  ideas  at  last  became  as 
entangled  as  a  skein  in  a  child's  hands.  I  could  distinguish  nothing 
clearly,  and  was  only  conscious  of  chaos. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  I  was  still  busy  torturing  my 
brain,  when  M.  Mechinet,  mindful  of  the  promise  he  had  made  the  night 
before,  entered  my  room  to  inform  me  that  it  was  time  to  start.  "  Come, 
come,"  said  he  ;  "  let  us  be  off." 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  at  once,  and  followed  him  out  of  the  room.  We 
hastily  went  downstairs,  and  on  reaching  the  street  I  noticed  that  my 
worthy  neighbour  was  rather  more  carefully  dressed  than  usual.  He 
had  succeeded  in  giving  himself  that  well-to-do,  easily-pleased  air  which 
Parisian  shopkeepers  delight  to  find  among  their  customers  ;  and  he  was, 
moreover,  radiant  with  all  the  gaiety  of  a  m&sn  who  knows  that  he  is. 


32  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGKOLLES. 

marching  to  certain  victory.  "  Well  ?  "  he  asked,  as  we  talked  down 
the  Rue  Racine,  side  by  side  ;  "well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  wife? 
The  big  guns  at  the  Prefecture  consider  me  to  be  a  shrewd  fellow,  and 
yet  you  see  I  consult  her  ;  and  I  may  add,  that  I  have  often  done  so  with 
profit.  After  all,  where's  the  harm  ?  Wasn't  Moliere  in  the  habit  of 
consulting  his  servant  ?  Caroline  certainly  has  one  little  failing,  as  per- 
haps you  may  have  noticed.  To  her  mind  there  are  no  stupid  crimes, 
and  so  she  invests  every  scamp  with  most  diabolical  powers  of  invention. 
However,  my  failing  is  just  of  the  opposite  kind.  While  she  is  always 
hunting  after  romance,  I  am  rather  too  much  inclined  to  look  merely  at 
positive  facts.  But,  by  combining  our  two  systems — taking  a  little  of 
the  one,  and  a  little  of  the  other— it  generally  happens  that  we  ulti- 
mately arrive  at  the  truth." 

"  What !  "  cried  I,  interrupting  M.  Mechinet ;  "  do  you  think  that 
you  have  penetrated  this  Monistrol  mystery  ?  " 

He  stopped  short,  drew  his  huge  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  took  three 
or  four  imaginary  pinches,  according  to  his  wont,  and  then,  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  reserve  and  satisfaction,  replied,  "Well,  at  least  I  possess  the 
means  of  penetrating  it." 

"  Oh  !  "  stammered  I,  wondering  what  this  means  might  be,  and  yet 
deterred  from  further  questioning  by  my  companion's  air  of  discretion. 

But  my  mind  was  soon  busy  with  a  new  train  of  thought.  Crossing 
the  Seine  by  the  Pont  des  Arts,  and  traversing  the  court-yard  of  the 
Louvre,  we  had  made  for  our  destination  by  way  of  the  Rue  Croix  des 
Petits  Champs  and  the  Bank  of  France.  The  streets  were  all  alive  with 
traffic  ;  merchants  and  clerks  were  hurrying  in  and  out  of  the  bank  ;  the 
neighbouring  shops  displayed  a  variety  of  costly  wares.  Signs  of  luxu- 
rious prosperity  were  indeed  apparent  on  every  side,  and  as  I  noted  them 
I  could  not  help  remembering  that  surroundings  often  have  a  decisive 
influence  on  character.  What  indeed  was  Clara  Monistrol,  according  to 
Mme.  Mechinet's  theory  ?  An  ambitious,  coquettish  woman,  fond  of 
display,  hankering  after  wealth,  and  envious  of  other  folks'  good  fortune. 
Even  if  the  evil  grain  had  not  pre-existe^  in  her  mind,  might  not  the 
seeds  of  covetousness  have  been  sown  by  life  in  such  a  centre  ?  The  Rue 
Vivienne  is  no  fit  abode  for  poverty  or  struggling  circumstances.  From 
one  end  to  another  you  can  hear  the  jingle  of  specie  and  the  rustle  of 
flimsies.  Here  are  the  Boulevards — all  life,  splendour,  and  display  ;  here 
at  mid-distance  is  the  Bourse — the  Giant  Temple  of  Mammon — crowded 
each  afternoon  with  the  devotees  of  fortune  ;  here,  at  each  step  you  take, 
are  the  offices  of  money-changers,  stock-brokers,  and  bill-discounters  ; 
and  even  when  wealth  does  not  assert  itself  in  the  shape  of  bullion,  notes, 
and  shares,  it  is  present  in  a  thousand  other  forms.  Here  is  some  shop- 
window  crowded  with  precious  works  of  art ;  here  are  tantalising  toil- 
ettes and  bewitching  bonnets  ;  and  here,  at  the  photograph  stores,  are 
portraits  upon  portraits  of  wonderfully-adorned  actresses,  and  elegant 
belles  of  society — all  appealing  to  the  mind  of  a  covetous  woman,  eager 
for  wealth  and  anxious  to  be  admired.  And  note  that  the  Bank  of 
France,  with  its  cellars  full  of  millions,  is  but  a  stone's  throw  off ;  and 
that  the  Palais  Royal,  with  its  galleries  scintillating  with  diamonds, 
stands  at  the  top  of  the  street.  What  a  neighbourhood  for  such  a  woman 
as  Madame  Monistrol !    If  the  portrait  sketched  by  the  doorkeeper  of 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLE3.  33 

Batignolles  were  faithful  to  reality,  and  if  Mme.  Mechinet's  deductions 
were  correct,  must  not  Clara  Monistrol  have  endured  unspeakable  tor- 
ture, living,  in  her  comparative  poverty,  in  the  midst  of  this  El  Dorado  ? 
Must  she  not  have  been  perpetually  tantalised,  tempted,  goaded  on  by 
the  every-day  spectacle  of  all  this  wealth — of  all  these  pricely  wares,  of 
all  these  costly  adornments  ?  She  had  looked  no  doubt  with  hungry  eyes 
on  many  a  coveted  object,  and  the  thought  that  there  was  only  that 
little  old  man  at  Batignolles  between  her  present  envy  and  the  attain- 
ment of  her  desires,  had  returned  and  returned,  with  increasing  force, 
until  at  last  she  was  persuaded  to  instigate  this  crime.  Looking  at  the 
case  in  this  light,  and  leaving  my  previous  observations  on  one  side,  it 
really  seemed  to  assume  a  very  different  aspect. 

But  I  was  unable  to  carry  my  deductions  further,  for,  at  this  point, 
worthy  M.  Mechinet  interrupted  my  reverie.  We  had  just  reached  the 
Rue  Vivienne,  and  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  National  Library.  "  Now, 
follow  me,"  said  my  neighbour  ;  ' '  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open,  but 
don't  speak  unless  we  remain  alone  ;  and,  no  matter  what  happens,  be 
careful  not  to  express  any  surprise." 

He  did  well  to  warn  me,  for  otherwise  I  should  not  have  failed  to 
manifest  my  astonishment  at  the  course  he  took  a  moment  later, 
Abruptly  crossing  the  street,  he  walked  straight  into  an  umbrella  shop 
— one  of  those  fashionable  establishments  where  only  the  most  costly 
articles  are  sold.  As  stiff  and  as  grave  as  an  Englishman,  he  made  the 
mistress  of  the  shop  show  him,  in  turn,  well  nigh  every  umbrella  she  had 
in  stock.  But  nothing  seemed  to  please  him  ;  he  rejected  even  the  most 
perfect  articles,  always  having  some  objection  ready  to  meet  the  praises 
which  the  shopkeeper  lavished  on  her  goods.  At  last,  he  asked  her  if 
she  could  not  undertake  to  make  him  an  umbrella  on  a  pattern  he  would 
furnish.  "  It  would  be  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  answered  ; 
and  thereupon  M.  Mechinet  promised  that  he  would  return  on  the  mor- 
row with  the  pattern  in  question.  The  woman  conducted  us  back  to  the 
door  with  many  marks  of  deference — for,  in  Paris,  the  more  fastidious 
a  customer  shows  himself,  tHe  more  he  rises  in  a  dealer's  esteem — and 
the  next  moment  we  stood  on  the  pavement  outside,  myself  with  admi- 
ration glowing  on  my  face,  and  M.  Mechinet  with  a  radiant  air  of  self- 
satisfaction. 

The  fact  is,  that  he  had  good  reason  to  be  satisfied,  for  the  half -hour 
spent  in  that  shop  had  by  no  means  been  thrown  away.  Whilst  exam- 
ining all  the  umbrellas  that  were  shown  to  him,  he  had  skilfully  contrived 
to  pump  the  shopwoman  of  all  she  knew  about  the  Monistrols,  both  man 
and  wife.  After  all,  it  was  a  comparatively  easy  matter,  for  the  murder 
of  the  little  old  man  of  Batignolles,  and  the  arrest  of  the  dealer  in  imi- 
tation jewellery,  had  caused  a  perfect  sensation  throughout  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Rue  Vivienne,  and  formed  the  one  great  topic  of  cur- 
rent gossip. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  M.  Mechinet,  as  we  proceeded  slowly  along  the 
street.  "  There,  that's  how  we  obtain  trustworthy  information  !  If  I 
presented  myself  in  my  real  character,  folks  would  assume  a  pompous 
air,  launch  forth  grandiloquent  phrases  about  vice  and  virtue,  and  then 
good-bye  to  plain,  simple,  unvarnished  truth  !  " 

My  neighbour  enacted  the  same  little  comedy  in  seven  o*  eight  other 

B 


34  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN   OF  BATIGXOLLES. 

(shops  of  various  kinds  along  the  street ;  and  in  one  establishment,  where 
the  dealer  and  his  wife  at  first  showed  themselves  somewhat  reserved 
and  taciturn,  he  contrived  to  loosen  their  tongues  by  expending  a  "Napo- 
leon "  on  a  little  purchase.  To  my  amusement  we  spent  a  couple  of  hours 
or  so  in  this  fashion,  and  then  M.  Mechinet  opined  that  further  inquiries 
■would  be  superfluous,  for  we  now  knew  enough  to  guage  the  current  of 
public  opinion.  In  point  of  fact,  we  were  very  fairly  acquainted  with 
what  the  tradesfolk  of  the  neighbourhood  thought  of  M.  and  Madame 
Monistrol,  who  had  resided  in  the  Rue  Vivienne  ever  since  their  mar- 
riage, some  four  years  previously. 

There  was  but  one  opinion  concerning  the  husband.  He  was,  accord- 
ding  to  general  report,  a  very  good-natured,  worthy  man — obliging, 
honest,  industrious,  and  fairly  intelligent.  It  was  scarcely  his  fault, 
we  were  told,  if  his  business  had  not  prospered.  Fortune  does  not  al- 
ways smile  on  those  who  are  most  deserving  of  her  favours.  Monistrol, 
it  appeared,  had  acted  unwisely  in  taking  a  shop  which  seemed  fated  to 
bankruptcy,  for,  withm  a  period  of  fifteen  years,  four  dealers  of  different 
trades  had  failed  in  it.  The  jeweller  was  greatly  attached  to  his  wife— 
every  one  knew  it,  and  repeated  it ;  but  he  had  not  unduly  paraded  his 
affection,  or  shown  himself  extravagantly  uxorious  and  jealous.  None 
of  the  people  whom  M.  Mechinet  questioned  believed  in  Monistrol's 
guilt.  In  fact,  they  invariably  remarked  :  ' '  The  police  must  have  made 
a  mistake,  and  will  soon  find  it  out." 

In  reference  to  Madame  Monistrol  opinions  were  on  one  point  divided. 
Some  of  the  neighbours  considered  that  her  tastes  were  of  too  elegant 
a  character  for  her  position,  whilst  others  opined  that  in  a  shop  like  her 
husband's,  it  was  imperative  that  the  mistress  should  be  fashionably 
attired.  However,  it  was  only  on  this  question  that  our  informants 
differed.  They  united  in  declaring  that  Madame  Monistrol  was 
greatly  attached  to  her  husband.  Her  virtue,  they  said,  was  unim- 
peachable. No  one  had  ever  heard  of  her  flirting  or  carrying  hel 
coquetry  beyond  the  bounds  of  personal  adornment ;  and  one  in- 
dividual naively  remarked  that  her  conduct  in  this  respect  was  most 
meritorious,  for  she  was  remarkably  beautiful,  and  had  any  number  of 
admirers.  But  she  had  always  remained  deaf  to  their  pleadings,  and 
her  reputation  as  a  faithful  wife  was  absolutely  immaculate. 

This  information  plainly  worried  M.  Mechinet.  "It's  wonderful," 
said  he  to  me.  "  No  slander,  no  back-biting,  no  queer  little  stories  of 
misconduct  !  I  begin  to  think  that  my  wife  must  have  been  mistaken. 
According  to  her  idea,  Madame  Monistrol  ought  to  have  been  one  of 
those  brazen  beauties  who  rule  the  household,  and  who  are  fonder  of 
displaying  their  own  charms  than  their  husband's  merchandise,  one  of 
those  women,  indeed,  whose  husbands  are  either  blind  fools  or  else 
shameful  accomplices.  And  yet  I  find  nothing  of  all  that.  The  very 
most  that  people  say,  is,  that  she  is  rather  fond  of  dress,  but  then 
that's  the  case  with  wellnigh  every  pretty  woman  in  the  world  •  and 
because  she  has  a  few  elegant  whims  and  a  little  taste  we've  no  right  to 
brand  her  with  infamy." 

I  made  no  reply  to  these  remarks.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  quite  as 
disconcerted  as  the  detective.  What  a  difference  between  the  fairlv 
eulogious  statements  made  by  the  neighbours  and  the  disparaain?  asser- 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  35 

tiona  of  the  doorkeeper  at  Batignolles  !  However,  perhaps  the  discre- 
pancy might  be  explained  ;  for,  as  it  occurred  to  my  mind  just  then, 
people  in  different  circumstances  take  different  views  of  things.  And 
moreover,  opinions  vary  with  localities.  What  seems  altogether 
scandalous  and  disgraceful  in  the  Rue  de  L^cluse  is  justifiable,  seemly, 
and  even  requisite  in  the  Rue  Vivienne.  The  staid  and  quiet  quarter  of 
Batignolles,  and  the  ostentatious  easy  going  district  of  the  Bourse  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  share  the  same  notions  of  morality. 

However,  we  had  already  spent  too  much  time  in  prosecuting  our  in- 
quiry to  think  of  pausing  to  discuss  our  impressions  and  conjectures. 
"Now,"  said  M.  M6chinet,  "  Before  we  tackle  the  enemy  let's  have  a 
look  at  his  quarters."  And  familiar  with  the  practise  of  carrying  on 
these  delicate  investigations  in  the  midst  of  the  traffic  and  bustle  of 
Paris,  he  drew  me  under  an  arched  .gateway  situated  just  in  front  of 
Monistrol's  shop. 

It  was  a  modest-looking  shop  indeed,  almost  a  beggarly  one,  when 
compared  with  the  fashionable  establishments  around.  The  weather- 
stained  front,  for  instance,  sadly  required  a  coat  of  paint.  Above  the 
windows  one  could  read  the  name  of  "  MONISTROL,"  formerly  traced  in 
gilt  letters,  but  now  blackened  and  dingy,  whilst  across  the  panes  of 
glass,  on  either  side  of  the  door,  ran  the  inscription,  ' '  Gold  and 
Imitation."  Among  the  articles  displayed  to  view  there  were,  how- 
ever, but  few  of  standard  ore.  The  imitation  goods  formed  nineteen- 
twentieths  of  the  stock.  Steel-gilt  chains,  jet  ornaments,  diadems  to 
which  Rhine  stones  and  strass  lent  a  fugitive  subdued  brilliancy,  imi- 
tation coral  necklets,  with  brooches,  rings,  studs,  and  sleeve  links  set 
with  false  stones  of  every  hue,  were  displayed  in  considerable  profusion, 
but  their  spurious  character  was  altogether  too  evident  for  the  passing 
window  thief  to  be  deceived. 

"Well,  let's  go  in,"  said  I  to  M.  M^chinet,  after  making  a  brief  sur- 
vey of  the  shop. 

But  the  detective  was  less  impatient  than  myself,  or  rather  he  was 
more  expert  in  restraining  his  impatience,  for  catching  me  by  the  arm, 
he  exclaimed,  "One  moment  please.  Before  entering,  I  should  just 
like  to  have  a  glimpse  of  Madame  Monistrol." 

However,  although  we  remained  for  another  twenty  minutes  at  our 
post  of  observation  under  the  archway,  the  shop  remained  deserted. 
There  were  no  signs  whatever  of  the  beautiful  Madame  Clara,  and  in- 
deed, we  did  not  even  perceive  a  shop  boy  or  a  shop  girl  behind  the 
counter.  "Well,  well,  that's  enough  waiting, "  opined  my  companion 
at  last.     "Come  on,  Monsieur  Godeuil,  let  us  chance  it." 


IX. 

To  reach  Monistrol's  shop  we  had  only  to  cross  the  street,  a  feat  we 
performed  in  four  strides.  On  hearing  us  open  the  door  a  slatternly 
looking  little  servant  girl,  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age,  with  a 
dirty  face  and  ill-combed  hair,  came  out  of  a  room  in  the  rear  of  the 
shop.     "  What  do  the  gentlemen  require  ?  "  asked  she, 

"  Is  Madame  Monistrol  indoors  ? " 


3G  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES. 

"  Yes,  sir,  she's  in  the  room  there,  and  I'll  run  and  tell  her  you  want 
her,  for,  you  see — " 

But  M.  Mechinet  did  not  allow  the  maid  to  finish.  He  roughly 
pushed  her  aside,  and  exclaimed :  "  That'll  do  ;  as  she's  there,  I'll  go 
and  speak  to  her."  And  the  next  moment  he  walked  straight  into  the 
room  at  the  rear  of  the  shop. 

I  followed  close  behind  him  on  the  tiptoe  of  curiosity  and  expectation, 
feeling  as  it  were  a  kind  of  presentiment  that  this  visit  would  result  in 
an  explanation  of  the  mystery.  I  required  some  little  energy  to  pre- 
serve an  appearance  of  calmness,  for  to  tell  the  truth,  my  mind  was 
terribly  excited,  and  I  could  hear  my  temples  throb,  and  my  heart  beat 
pit-a-pat,  with  most  unwonted  violence. 

The  apartment  in  the  rear  of  the  shop  was  a  dreary  looking  chamber, 
which  apparently  did  joint  duty,  as  dining-room,  drawing-room  and 
bed-room.  It  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  disorder,  and  its  appoint- 
ments were  such  as  are  common  to  the  abodes  of  people  in  straightened 
circumstances  who  wish  to  appear  rich.  At  the  further  end  stood  a 
bedstead  partially  concealed  by  pretentiously  draped  curtains  of  blue 
damask.  The  pillow  cases  were  fringed  round  with  lace  and  em- 
broidered with  huge  initial  letters,  and  the  rug  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
was  a  flowery  imitation  of  the  Aubusson  style.  In  striking  contrast 
with  this  attempted  display  of  magnificence,  appeared  the  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room.  Its  greasy  oil  cloth  covering  was  bestrewn  with 
the  remnants  of  what  could  not  have  been  a  particularly  appetising 
breakfast,  served  in  crockery  of  the  commonest  kind.  Reclining  beside 
this  table  in  a  capacious  arm  chair,  I  perceived  a  young  woman,  with 
fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  who  held  between  her  fingers  a  legal  document 
on  stamped  paper.  This  then  was  the  beautiful  Madame  Monistrol. 
Her  charms  had  certainly  not  been  exaggerated.  She  was  slightly  above 
the  average  height,  but  admirably  proportioned,  as  with  my  professional 
knowledge  of  anatomy  I  easily  perceived,  despite  her  somewhat  recum- 
bent position.  Her  nose  would  have  done  honour  to  a  Grecian  beauty, 
and  her  lips — although  somewhat  deficient  in  colour,  a  circumstance 
no  doubt  due  to  emotion — offered  the  graceful  curves  of  Cupid's  bow. 
Her  ears  were  particularly  tiny  and  well-shaped,  and  her  bowed 
neck,  on  which  lingered  the  wavy  curls  of  her  back  hair,  seemed  as 
white  and  as  smooth  as  polished  alabaster.  Her  feet  could  not  be  seen 
from  where  I  stood  ;  but  no  doubt  they  were  as  exquisitely  modelled  as 
her  hands,  which  with  their  fair  white  skin,  their  network  of  pale  blue 
veins,  and  their  tapering  fingers  tipped  with  glistening  pink  nails, 
would  have  fairly  sent  an  artist  into  raptures. 

It  would  be  futile  to  conceal  it.  I  was  at  first  fairly  dazzled  by  this 
woman's  amazing  beauty,  and  reversing  all  Madame  Mechinet's  theories 
anent  her  culpability,  I  decided  in  my  own  mind,  that  it  was  quite  im- 
possible such  a  lovely  creature  could  have  instigated  the  heinous  crime 
of  the  Rue  de  Lecluse.  But  this  impression  only  lasted  for  a  moment, 
so  contradictory  and  so  versatile  indeed  were  my  ideas  at  that  prefatory 
epoch  of  my  career  as  a  detective.  It  was  her  dress  that  made  me 
change  my  mind.  She  was  in  deep  mourning,  wearing  a  robe  of  black 
crape,  cut  slightly  low  at  the  neck.  Now  black  is  admirably  adapted 
to  set  off  fair  complexions,  and  naturally  enough  this  toilette  greatly 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES.  37 

enhanced  Mademoiselle  Clara's  charms.  But  on  reflection,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  a  person  labouring  under  deep  grief,  a  prey  in  fact  to  harrow- 
ing sorrow,  would  scarcely  have  had  the  requisite  presence  of  mind  to 
array  herself  in  this  preposessing  style  ;  and  I  could  not  help  asking 
myself,  if  Madame  Monistrol  were  not,  after  all,  an  actress  who  had  de- 
liberately assumed  the  costume  of  the  part  she  meant  to  play. 

On  perceiving  us  enter  the  room,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  like  a  frightened 
doe,  and  asked  in  a  tearful  voice  :  "  What  do  you  desire,  gentlemen  ?" 

From  the  gleam  in  M.  Mechinet's  eyes  I  could  judge  that  he  had 
mentally  made  the  same  remarks  as  myself.  "  Madame,"  he  answered, 
sternly,  "  I  am  sent  here  by  the  judicial  authorities.  I  am  an  agent  of 
the  detective  police." 

At  this  announcement  she  sunk  back  into  her  arm-chair,  sobbing,  and 
to  all  appearance  overcome  ;  but  suddenly,  inflamed  as  it  were  with 
nervous  enthusiasm,  with  bright  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  she  rose  once 
more  to  her  feet,  exclaiming  in  impassioned  tones  :  "Do  you  come  to 
arrest  me,  then  ?  Ah  !  I  could  bless  you  for  it.  Come,  I  am  ready. 
Lead  me  away  !  Let  me  join  the  honest  man  whom  you  arrested  last 
night !  Whatever  may  be  his  fate  I  wish  to  share  it.  He  is  as  guiltless 
as  I  am  myself  ;  but  no  matter,  if  he  is  fated  to  be  the  victim  of  a 
judicial  error,  it  will  be  a  last  joy  for  me  to  die  beside  him  ! " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  prolonged  growl,  coming  from  one  of  the 
corners  of  the  room.  I  looked  up  and  perceived  a  black  dog,  who 
showed  his  teeth  and  glared  at  us  as  if  he  meant  mischief.  "  Down, 
Pluto,  down  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Monistrol.  "  Come,  go  to  bed  and 
keep  quiet.     These  gentlemen  don't  mean  me  any  harm." 

At  first  the  animal  seemed  disinclined  to  obey  his  mistress's  com- 
mand, but  at  last,  without  once  averting  his  glaring  gaze,  he  slowly 
backed  under  the  bedstead,  where  in  the  shadow  I  could  still  distinguish 
his  bright  eyes  fixed  upon  us. 

"  You  are  right  in  saying  that  we  don't  mean  you  any  harm,  madame," 
remarked  M.  Mechinet.  "We  have  not  come  to  arrest  you."  He  no 
doubt  trusted  that  this  intelligence  would  draw  from  her  some  expres- 
sion of  feeling  indicative  of  her  hopes  or  fears  ;  but  he  was  mistaken, 
for  she  did  not  seem  to  heed  it. 

"  This  morning,"  she  resumed,  glancing  at  the  paper  in  her  hand,  "I 
received  this  summons,  which  orders  me  to  be  at  the  office  of  an  investi- 
gating magistrate  at  the  Palace  of  Justice,  at  three  o'clock  this  after- 
noon. What  can  be  wanted  of  me,  good  heavens !  what  can  be  wanted 
of  me?" 

"  Why,  information,  madame,"  promptly  answered  M.  Mechinet. 
"Information  that  may  enlighten  justice,  and,  as  I  hope,  prove  your 
husband's  innocence.  Pray  don't  look  on  me  as  an  enemy.  Indeed,  so 
far  as  my  professional  character  allows,  I  sincerely  sympathise  with 
you  in  your  misfortune.  My  only  object,  my  only  ambition  is  to  arrive 
at  the  truth."  So  saying  my  neighbour  drew  forth  his  snuff-box  and 
took  a  score  or  so  of  imaginary  pinches.  ' '  You  will  therefore  under- 
stand, madame,"  he  resumed,  in  a  solemn  tone  which  I  had  never  heard 
him  employ  before ;  "you  will  understand  how  important  may  prove 
your  answers  to  the  questions  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  asking  you, 
And  so  may  I  beg  you  to  answer  me  frankly ! " 


38  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

For  fully  half  a  minute  Madame  Clara  fixed  her  big  blue  eyes  on  my 
neighbour  and  gazed  at  him  through  her  tears.  "Question  me,  monsieur," 
she  said  at  last. 

For  the  third  time  I  must  repeat  it ;  I  was  altogether  without  experi- 
ence, and  yet  the  manner  in  which  M.  Mechinet  had  initiated  this  in- 
terrogatory caused  me  intense  dissatisfaction.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he 
betrayed  all  his  perplexity  and  wandered  on  in  hap-hazard  fashion,  in- 
stead of  marching  straight  towards  a  pre-detertnined  object.  Ah  !  how 
my  tongue  itched !  Howl  should  have  liked  to  intervene.  If  I  had 
only  dared.  But  then,  of  course,  I  was  no  one ;  I  had  no  locus 

standi,  and  was  merely  there  on  sufferance.  However,  during  the  last 
few  minutes,  my  worthy  neighbour  had  greatly  fallen  in  my  estimation. 
I  forgot  the  clever  manner  in  which  he  had  questioned  Monistrol  the 
night  before ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  he  were  well  up  in  the  routine 
of  his  profession,  he  was,  at  all  events,  quite  deficient  in  that  analyti- 
cal, investigative  genius,  without  which  a  man  cannot  hope  to  become 
a  great  detective.  Indeed,  it  really  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  his  superior 
in  the  latter  respect,  despite  my  comparative  youth  and  imperfect  know- 
ledge of  men  and  things ;  and  hence  I  suffered  all  the  more  acutely  at 
having  to  stand  still  and  listen  to  what  I  considered  his  blunders,  with- 
out any  right  to  intervene  and  repair  them. 

My  worthy  neighbour  was,  of  course,  blissfully  ignorant  of  what  was 
passing  in  my  mind.  Seating  himself  on  a  chair  in  front  of  Madame 
Monistrol,  he  began  as  follows  :  "  As  no  doubt  you  are  aware,  madame, 
it  was  after  nine  o'clock  on  the  night  before  last  that  Monsieur  Pigoreau, 
or  Antenor,  as  some  people  called  him — in  one  word — your  husband's 
uncle — was  murdered  at  Batignolles." 

"Alas  !  yes  ;  so  I  have  been  told,"  answered  Madame  Clara. 

"Now  can  you  tell  me,"  continued  the  detective,  "  where  Monsieur 
Monistrol  was  between  nine  o'clock  and  midnight  ?  " 

"Ah,  Lord!"  groaned  the  jeweller's  wife,  clasping  her  hands  with 
anguish.     "What  a  fatality  ! " 

M.  Mechinet  paid  no  heed  to  the  exclamation.  "  Excuse  me,"  he  re- 
sumed ;  "you  must  be  able  to  tell  us  where  your  husband  was  on  the 
evening  before  last  ?  " 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Madame  Monistrol  was  able  to  reply, 
for  sobs  were  rising  in  her  throat  and  seemed  to  choke  her  utterance. 
At  last,  mastering  her  grief,  she  murmured :  "  On  the  day  before  yester 
day  my  husband  spent  the  evening  away  from  home." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  was ? " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  can  tell  you  that.  One  of  our  work-people,  living  at 
Mnsirouge,  was  engaged  on  a  set  of  false  pearls,  and  had  failed  to 
deliver  them  as  promised.  We  were  afraid  that  the  person  who  had 
ordered  them  of  us  would  leave  them  on  our  hands,  which  would  have 
been  very  annoying,  for  we  are  far  from  rich,  and  business  is  bad  enough 
already.  So,  while  we  were  at  dinner  that  evening,  my  husband  said 
to  me  :  '  I  think  I  had  better  go  to  Montrouge  and  see  if  those  pearls 
are  not  ready  yet.'  And  sure  enough,  after  dinner — rather  before  nine 
o'clock — he  went  out,  and  I  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  de  Richelieu,  where  I  saw  him  take  the  omnibus  myself." 

I  began  to  breathe  again.     My  original  idea  had  been  the  right  one, 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATJGNOLLES.  39 

and  Monistrol  was  innocent ;  for  surely  his  wife's  reply  meant  an  unim- 
peachable alibi.  M.  Mechinet  no  doubt  had  the  same  thought,  for  he 
continued  in  a  softer  tone.  "If  that  is  the  case,  your  workman  could 
state  that  M.  Monistrol  was  with  him  somewhere  about  eleven  o'clock?" 

"  Ah  !  unfortunately  no." 

"  No  ?    And  why  not  pray  ?  " 

' '  Because  he  was  not  at  home.     My  husband  did  not  see  him." 

"That  is  a  great  misfortune.  But  still  the  doorkeeper  of  the  house 
must  have  known  of  M.  Monistrol's  visit. " 

"  No,  monsieur.  In  fact  there  is  no  doorkeeper  in  the  house  where 
our  workman  lives." 

This  might  be  the  truth.  Similar  things  have  been  heard  of  before  ; 
and  yet  the  judicial  authorities  would  undoubtedly  consider  the  circum- 
stance as  a  most  suspicious  one,  indeed  as  an  additional  indication  of 
the  prisoner's  guilt.  At  all  events,  with  such  glaring  absence  of  proof, 
the  plea  of  an  alibi  became  quite  untenable.  Was  it  this,  then,  that 
had  impelled  Monistrol  to  plead  guilty  ?  Had  he  realised  that  this  im- 
probable story  of  a  journey  to  Montrouge,  to  a  workman  who  was  not 
at  home,  and  who  lived  in  a  house  where  there  was  no  doorkeeper, 
would  only  cause  both  judge  and  jury  to  shrug  their  shoulders  with  con- 
tempt ?  Perhaps  he  had.  He  had  very  likely  said  to  himself,  "lam 
the  victim  of  a  fatal  combination  of  circumstances.  My  statements 
would  be  set  down  as  a  parcel  of  lies,  concocted  in  the  vain  hope  of 
saving  myself  from  the  guillotine.  I  should  be  doubly  branded  with 
infamy  ;  and  so  it  is  best  that  I  should  accept  my  fate  and  bow  my 
head  to  the  last  stroke  of  that  ill  luck  which  has  so  persistently  followed 
me  through  life." 

Whilst  I  was  pursuing  this  train  of  thought,  M.  Mechinet  had  re- 
sumed his  interrogatory.  "  At  what  time  did  your  husband  come 
home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  sometime  after  midnight." 

"  Didn't  you  think  he  had  been  a  long  while  gone." 

"  Oh  yes  !  Indeed,  I  spoke  to  him  about  it,  but  he  said  he  had  come 
back  on  foot,  and  loitered  on  his  way.  If  I  recollect  rightly,  he  had 
rested  in  a  caf6  and  drunk  a  glass  of  beer." 

"And  pray  what  did  he  look  like  when  he  came  home  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  looked  annoyed,  but  that  was  only  natural." 

"  What  clothes  was  he  wearing  ?  " 

"  The  same  as  when  he  was  arrested." 

"And  you  didn't  notice  anything  extraordinary  about  his  manner  or 
appearance." 

"No,  nothing." 


Standing,  at  a  few  paces  behind  M.  Mechinet,  I  was  able  to  watch 
Madame  Monistrol's  features  at  leisure,  and  take  due  note  of  her 
slightest  change  of  expression.  She  seemed  to  be  overcome  with  deep 
grief,  and  big  tears  streamed  down  her  pale  cheeks.  And  yet  at  cer- 
tain moments  I  farjcied  J  could  detect  something  like  a  suppressed 


40  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BAT1GNOLLES. 

gleam  of  joy  in  the  depths  of  her  big,  blue  eyes.  "  Is  she  guilty  then?" 
I  asked  myself.  This  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  idea  had  occurred 
to  me,  and  now,  as  I  stood  there  watching  the  jeweller's'wife,  it  returned 
and  returned  with  such  obstinate  persistency,  that  at  last  I  could  con- 
trol myself  no  longer.  Forgetful  of  M.  M6chinet's  recommendations, 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  I  had  no  right  to  interfere  in  the  proceedings, 
I  took  a  few  steps  forward,  and  roughly  asked  :  "But  you,  madame, 
where  were  you  on  that  fatal  evening,  while  your  husband  was  uselessly 
journeying  to  Montrouge,  to  see  his  workman?  " 

She  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  mine,  gave  me  a  long  look  of  surprise,  and 
then  softly  answered  :  "  I  was  here,  monsieur,  as  witnesses  can  prove  to 
you." 

"Witnesses  !" 

"Yes,  monsieur.  It  was  so  very  warm  that  evening,  that  I  felt  I 
should  like  an  ice.  As  it  worried  me  to  take  it  alone,  I  sent  my  ser- 
vant to  invite  two  of  my  neighbours,  Madame  Dorstrich,  the  boot- 
maker's wife,  next  door,  and  Madame  Rivaille,  who  keeps  the  glove  shop 
over  the  way.  They  both  accepted  my  invitation,  and  remained  here 
with  me  till  half-past  eleven  o'clock.  You  may  question  them,  and  they 
will  tell  you  that  such  was  the  case.  In  the  midst  of  all  these  cruel 
trials,  this  accidental  circumstance  is  really  a  favour  from  on  high." 

Was  the  circumstance  of  such  a  purely  accidental  character  as 
Madame  Monistrol  pretended  ?  This  is  what  we  asked  each  other,  M. 
Mechinet  and  myself,  by  means  of  a  rapid  questioning  glance.  When 
chance  acts  so  appropriately,  it  may  well  have  been  assisted.  At  least, 
this  is  what  I  thought,  and  the  swift  gleam  that  shot  from  my  neighbour's 
eyes  in  my  direction  seemed  to  imply  that  his  opinion  was  the  same. 
However,  this  was  scarcely  the  moment  for  an  exchange  of  observations, 
which  would  assuredly  have  proved  suspicious  to  Madame  Monistrol. 

"  You  have  never  been  suspected,  madame,"  declared  M.  Mechinet, 
with  rare  effrontery.  "  The  worst  that  was  supposed  was  that  your 
husband  might  perhaps  have  said  something  to  you  before  committing 
this  crime." 

"Ah !  monsieur  ! "  ejaculated  Madame  Monistrol.  "  Ah !  if  you  only 
knew  us ! " 

"  One  moment,  pray.  We  have  been  told  that  your  husband's  busi- 
ness was  not  a  prosperous  one,  that  he  was  in  needy  circumstances." 

"  Yes,  lately,  it  is  true  ;  trade  has  not  been  very  bright." 

"  Now  your  husband  must  have  been  very  worried  and  anxious  on 
account  of  his  precarious  position.  He  must  have  particularly  suffered 
on  thinking  of  you,  his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  so  attached.  For  your 
sake,  more  than  for  himself,  your  husband  must  have  longed  to  attain  a 
position  of  ease  and  fortune." 

"  Ah  !  monsieur,  I  can  only  repeat  it,  he  is  innocent." 

M.  M6chmet  assumed  a  pensive  air,  and  pretended  to  fill  his  nose 
with  snuff;  but  suddenly  raising  his  head  again  he  exclaimed  :  "  Then, 
sacrebleu,  how  do  you  explain  his  confession  ?  For  an  innocent  man  to 
plead  guilty  as  soon  as  the  crime  he  stands  accused  of  is  mentioned  to 
him  is  most  singular,  madame— singular,  and  indeed  astounding." 

A  fleeting  blush  coloured  Madame  Mechinet's  cheeks,  and  for  the  first 
time,  since  the  beginning  of  the  interrogatory,  her  glance  wavered.    Was 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES.  41 

this  to  be  interpreted  as  a  sign  of  guilt?  "  I  suppose,"  she  answered  in 
a  low  voice,  which  a  fresh  fit  of  sobbing  rendered  almost  inaudible  ;  "  I 
suppose  that  my  poor  husband  was  so  frightened  and  stupified  at  finding 
himself  accused  of  such  a  frightful  crime,  that  he  fairly  lost  his  head." 

M.  Mechinet  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "At  the  very  most,"  said  he, 
"  the  idea  of  passing  delirium  might  be  entertained  ;  but  after  a  long 
night's  reflection,  M.  Monistrol  has  this  very  morning  persisted  in  his 
original  avowals." 

Was  this  true  ?  Had  my  worthy  neighbour  been  to  the  Prefecture 
before  calling  me,  or  had  he  deemed  it  useful  to  make  this  statement 
without  authority  ?  At  all  events,  the  news  had  a  crushing  effect  on 
Madame  Monistrol.  She  turned  ashy  white,  and  I  really  thought  that 
she  was  going  to  faint.  We  were  both  looking  at  her  intently,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  could  not  bear  our  gaze,  for  suddenly  she  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  murmured,  "O  Lord,  0  Lord,  my  poor  husband  has 
gone  mad." 

Such  was  certainly  not  my  opinion.  In  fact,  I  had  very  different 
views.  I  was  becoming  more  and  more  convinced  that  this  scene,  so  far 
as  Madame  Clara  was  concerned,  was  merely  so  much  pure  comedy. 
Her  great  despair  was  to  my  mind  so  much  affectation,  and  I  asked 
myself  if  she  were  not  in  some  fashion  or  other  the  cause  of  her  husband's 
singular  attitude,  and  if  she  were  not  also  acquainted  with  the  true  cul- 
prit. Whilst  I  was  thinking,  however,  M.  Mechinet  continued  to  talk. 
He  endeavoured  to  console  Madame  Monistrol  by  a  few  set  phrases 
which  could  not  possibly  compromise  him,  and  then  gave  her  to  under- 
stand that  she  might  silence  a  great  many  suspicions  by  allowing  him  to 
make  a  minute  perquisition  throughout  the  establishment.  She  accepted 
the  suggestion  with  unfeigned  alacrity  and  pleasure.  "Everything  is 
at  your  disposal,  gentlemen,"  said  she.  "  Examine  everything.  I  shall 
really  feel  obliged  by  your  doing  so  ;  and  besides  it  won't  take  you  very 
long,  for  we  only  rent  the  shop,  this  room,  our  servant's  room  on  the 
top  floor,  and  a  little  cellar.     Here  are  the  keys  of  everything ! " 

To  my  very  great  astonishment,  M.  Mechinet  expressed  his  readiness 
to  make  a  search  at  once  ;  and  forthwith  he  began  ferreting  round  the 
room,  examining  everything  with  the  greatest  attention.  What  could 
be  his  object  ?  I  wondered.  Surely  he  must  have  some  secret  motive ; 
for  was  it  likely  that  such  a  perquisition — so  readily  authorised — would 
lead  to  any  important  discovery?  After  exploring  the  shop  and  the 
room  with  as  much  care  as  if  he  had  expected  to  light  upon  the  missing 
link  in  our  chain  of  evidence,  he  turned  to  Madame  Monistrol  and  re- 
marked:  "  Well,  there's  only  the  cellar  left  for  us  to  look  at  now." 

"  I'll  show  you  the  way,  monsieur,"  she  answered  ;  and  taking  a  can- 
dlestick and  a  box  of  lucifers  from  off  the  mantelpiece,  she  conducted  us 
out  of  the  room  into  a  courtyard  behind. 

We  descended  a  score  of  slippery  stone  steps  by  the  light  of  the  flick- 
ering candle,  and  halted  in  front  of  an  old  door  covered  with  cobwebs 
and  mildew.  "  Here's  the  cellar,"  observed  Madame  Monistrol,  unfast- 
ening the  padlock  ;  and  the  next  moment  pushing  back  the  door  she  led 
the  way  inside.  It  was  a  damp,  ill-kept  vault,  and  its  contents  were  in 
keeping  with  the  Monistrols'  needy  circumstances.  In  one  corner  was  a 
little  barrel  of  beer,  and  just  in  front  a  cask  of  wine,  more  or  less  securely 


42  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

perched  on  a  few  logs  of  wood.  Taps  were  affixed  both  to  the  beer 
barrel  and  the  wine  cask,  showing  that  they  were  both  on  draught.  On 
the  right  hand  side  were  three  or  four  dozen  bottles  of  wine,  probably  of 
a  superior  kind,  ranged  on  lathes ;  and  in  a  third  corner  an  equal  num- 
ber of  empty  bottles  could  be  perceived.  I  was  now  beginning  to  realise 
M.  Mechinet's  object.  He  scarcely  glanced  at  the  casks,  but  taking  the 
candle  from  Madame  Monistrol,  he  scrutinised  the  full  and  the  empty 
bottles  with  equal  attention.  I  carefully  followed  his  inspection,  and 
like  himself  I  noted  that  not  one  of  these  bottles  was  sealed  with  green 
wax.  Thus  the  inference  was,  that  the  cork  discovered  on  the  floor  in 
the  bedroom  at  Batignolles,  and  in  which  the  murderer  had  evidently 
imbedded  his  dagger's  point,  had  not  come  from  Monistrol's  cellar.  As 
M.  Mechinet  was  almost  as  prepossessed  as  myself  in  favour  of  the 
jeweller's  innocence,  this  result  ought  to  have  delighted  him ;  but  what- 
ever may  have  been  his  secret  feelings,  he  thought  fit  to  assume  a  look 
of  intense  disappointment  and  remarked,  ' '  Well,  I  find  nothing — nothing 
at  all ;  so  I  think  we  may  go  upstairs  again." 

I  walked  the  first  on  this  occasion,  and  thus  reached  the  room  in  the 
rear  of  the  shop  before  the  others.  Scarcely  had  I  opened  the  door 
when  Pluto,  the  black  dog  with  the  glaring  eyes  and  ferocious  growl, 
sprang  from  his  resting  place  under  the  bed  in  such  a  threatening  man- 
ner that  I  instinctively  retreated  a  few  paces  back. 

"  He  seems  to  be  an  unpleasant  customer  that  dog  of  yours,"  said  M. 
Mechinet  to  Madame  Monistrol. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  which  calmed  Pluto 
as  if  by  magic.  ' '  He's  a  good  fellow,  but  then,  you  know,  he's  a  watch- 
dog. We  jeweflers  have  so  many  thieves  to  fear;  and  so  we  have  trained 
him  to  keep  a  sharp  look  out." 

The  animal  was  quiet  enough  now  that  his  mistress  was  beside  him  ; 
and  wishing  to  coax  him  into  a  more  friendly  disposition,  I  called  him 
by  his  name:   "  Here,  Pluto,  here  !  " 

"Oh,  it's  quite  useless  for  you  to  call  him,"  carelessly  remarked 
Madame  Monistrol.     "  He  won't  obey  you." 

"Indeed!     Why  not?" 

"  Why,  like  all  dogs  of  his  breed,  he's  very  faithful.  He  only  knows 
his  master  and  me. " 

Many  people  would  have  considered  such  an  answer  to  be  altogether 
insignificant,  and  yet  to  me  it  was  as  a  ray  of  light  shed  on  the  mystery 
we  were  investigating.  Without  pausing  to  reflect,  yielding  to  the  first 
impulse  that  entered  my  head,  I  eagerly  asked:  "And  pray,  madame, 
where  was  this  faithful  dog  on  the  night  of  the  crime  ?  " 

So  great  was  Madame  MoDistrol's  emotion  and  surprise  at  being  asked 
this  question,  point  blank,  that  she  started  back  and  almost  let  her  can- 
dlestick fall  from  her  hand.  "I  don't  know,"  she  stammered;  "I 
don't  recollect — " 

"  Perhaps  he  followed  your  husband,"  I  resumed. 

"  Yes — now  I  think  of  it.     I  fancy  he  did." 

"  So  you  have  trained  him  to  follow  vehicles  then  ;  for  you  told  us 
that  you  saw  your  husband  get  on  the  'bus." 

She  made  no  rejoinder,  and  I  was  about  to  continue  when  M.  Mechinet 
forestalled  me.     Far  from  seeking  to  profit  by  Madame  Monistrol's  cou- 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLBS.  43 

fusion,  he  did  everything  he  could  to  set  her  mind  at  ease,  and  after 
advising  her  in  her  own  interest  to  comply  with  the  summons  she  had 
received  from  the  investigating  magistrate,  he  bade  her  good  morning, 
and  led  me  away. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  head?"  he  asked,  when  we  had  walked  a  few 
yards  down  the  street. 

Lost  my  head,  indeed  !  Such  a  remark  was  fairly  an  insult.  "  You 
are  really  too  hard  on  me,  M.  Mechinet,"  said  I.  "  Few  people  in  their 
senses  could  have  done  more  than  I  have  just  accomplished.  For  if  I 
haven't  solved  the  problem,  at  all  events  I've  shown  how  it  may  be 
solved.     Monistrol's  dog  will  lead  us  to  the  truth." 

This  outburst  made  my  worthy  neighbour  smile.  "  You  are  right," 
said  he  in  a  paternal  tone  ;  "  I  quite  understood  jour  question  about  the 
dog.  Only  I  fear  you  put  it  too  abruptly.  If  Madame  Monistrol  has 
divined  your  suspicions,  you  may  be  sure  that  the  animal  will  be  dead, 
or  have  disappeared  before  the  day  is  oyer. " 


XI. 

Yes,  I  had  certainly  been  most  imprudent.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
of  that.  But  on  the  other  hand,  I  had  discovered  the  weak  point  in 
the  enemy's  armour,  the  flaw  which  would  enable  us  to  penetrate 
a  most  artful  system  of  defence.  My  worthy  neighbour  was  fairly 
bowled  over.  Here  was  he,  a  celebrity  so  to  say  in  his  profession, 
possessed  of  vast  experience,  and  said  to  be  most  shrewd.  Now,  what 
result  had  he  arrived  at  during  this  long  interrogatory  ?  Just  none  at 
all.  He  had  wandered  through  and  through  the  maze  without  finding 
the  smallest  outlet,  whilst  I,  a  mere  apprentice,  had  discovered  the 
right  road  at  my  very  first  venture.  Another  man  might  have  shown 
himself  jealous  of  my  success,  but  M.  M6chinet  was  not  given  to  envious 
thoughts.  His  only  desire  was  to  utilise  my  discovery  to  the  very  best 
advantage  ;  and  accordingly  we  decided  to  hold  council  at  a  neighbour- 
ing restaurant,  one  of  the  best  places  for  a  dijeuner  a  la  fourchette  in  this 
part  of  Paris. 

Without  neglecting  to  ply  our  knives  and  forks,  for  our  morning's 
labours  had  whetted  our  appetites  to  the  right  degree,  we  began  by 
establishing  the  exact  position  of  the  problem,  so  as  to  arrive  more 
readily  at  the  required  solution.  To  our  minds  Monistrol's  innocence 
was  a  moral  certainty ;  and  we  thought  we  could  guess  why  he  had 
pleaded  guilty.  However,  for  the  time  being,  this  was  a  question  of 
secondary  importance.  As  regards  Madame  Monistrol  we  were  equally 
certain  that  she  had  not  left  her  neighbourhood  on  the  night  of  the 
crime  ;  for  it  was  no  doubt  perfectly  true  that  she  had  merely  accom- 
panied her  husband  as  far  as  the  omnibus  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  and 
that  she  had  then  returned  home  and  spent  the  whole  evening,  as  she 
said,  in  the  company  of  two  of  her  acquaintances.  But  although  it 
might  be  proved  that  she  could  not  possibly  have  taken  any  material  part 
in  the  perpetration  of  the  crime,  there  remained  the  charge  of  moral 
complicity,  in  respect  of  which  a  logical  sequence  of  deductions  seemed 
to  prove  her  guilt.     To  our  minds  she  had  been  fully  acquainted  witk 


44  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES. 

the  crime — even  if  she  had  not  indeed  advised  and  prepared  it — and 
consequently  she  knew  the  murderer. 

Now,  who  could  the  murderer  be  ?  Must  he  not  be  some  man  whom 
Pluto,  the  black  dog,  was  accustomed  to  obey  quite  as  readily  as  he 
obeyed  his  master  and  mistress  ?  For  we  had  unimpeachable  evidence 
that  the  dog  had  accompanied  the  assassin  to  Batignolles.  It  is  true 
that,  before  Madame  Monistrol  was  formally  questioned  on  the  subject 
of  the  dog,  she  had  casually  stated  that  he  only  obeyed  his  master  and 
herself  ;  but  her  subsequent  embarrassment  pointed  to  a  very  different 
conclusion.  Plainly  enough  Pluto  was  in  the  habit  of  obeying  some 
third  person,  with  whose  name  we  were  so  far  unacquainted.  This 
person  must,  however,  be  a  very  frequent  visitor  to  the  Monistrols'  shop, 
for  we  ourselves  had  seen  how  the  dog  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
strangers.  And  yet,  although  a  frequent  visitor,  he  could  scarcely  be 
a  friend  (at  least  so  far  as  Monsieur  Monistrol  was  concerned),  for  the 
crime  at  Batignolles  had  been  perpetrated  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 
the  jeweller's  guilt  seem  certain.  The  murderer  must  therefore  be  one 
of  M.  Monistrol's  bitter  enemies,  for  hatred  alone  could  have  inspired 
such  fiendish  cunning.  But  on  the  other  hand  he  must  be  very  dear 
indeed  to  Madame,  Monistrol ;  for,  although  she  knew  his  name  as  was 
morally  proven,  she  refrained  from  denouncing  him,  preferring  to  aban- 
don her  husband  to  the  cruel  fate  he  did  not  deserve. 

This  course  of  reasoning  could  have  but  one  conclusion :  Madame 
Monistrol  must  have  a  favoured  lover,  and  that  lover  must  be  the  mur- 
derer of  Batignolles.  Her  neighbours  of  the  Rue  Vivienne  had  no  doubt 
given  her  a  certificate  of  virtue,  but  under  the  circumstances  their 
assurances  were  insufficient.  Women  who  enjoy  the  very  highest  repu- 
tations often  carry  on  some  shameful  secret  intrigue  for  years  and  years, 
and  are  honoured  as  models  of  faithfulness  and  virtue,  whereas,  if  their 
sin  were  known,  they  would  be  turned  from  with  horror  and  loathing. 
Some  faithless  women  possess  extraordinary  powers  of  deception,  and  go 
to  the  grave  without  having  been  once  detected.  When  started  on  the 
road  of  error,  their  minds  prove  fertile  in  all  the  resources  of  hypocrisy 
and  cunning,  and  although  the  hundred  eyes  of  Argus  may  be  on  them, 
their  secret  remains  safe.  Now,  might  not  Madame  Monistrol  be  one  of 
these  women — who  are  not  merely  expert  in  deceiving  their  husbands, 
bat  in  deceiving  the  world  as  well  ? 

We  discussed  this  question  at  length,  M.  M6chinet  and  I,  and  our 
deductions  were  so  fully  in  keeping  with  our  original  theory,  that  we 
could  not  fail  to  accept  them.  On  the  one  hand  this  system  proved 
Monistrol's  innocence,  even  if  it  did  not  explain  his  plea  of  guilty ;  and 
on  the  other,  it  was  in  keeping  with  a  great  deal  of  what  Madame 
Mechinet  had  said  at  supper  the  night  before.  Clara  Monistrol  had 
certainly  instigated  the  crime,  but  in  lieu  of  entrusting  its  perpetration 
to  her  husband,  she  had  confided  it  to  her  lover,  hoping  to  enjoy  this 
ill-gotten  wealth  in  his  company,  after  the  unfortunate  jeweller  had 
perished  on  the  scaffold,  a  victim  of  judicial  error,  like  Lesurques  in  the 
famous  case  of  the  Lyons  mail.  But  then,  accepting  these  premises, 
who  could  this  lover  of  her's  be,  and  how  could  we  discover  him  ? 

After  torturing  my  mind  for  some  time,  I  at  length  ventured  to  ex- 
pound a  plan.     "It  seems  to  me,"  said  I  to  M.  Mechinet,  "that  the 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLE8.  45 

murderer  can  be  easily  found  out.  He  and  Madame  Monistrol  must 
have  agreed  not  to  see  each  other  for  some  little  time  after  the  crime. 
The  most  elementary  rules  of  prudence  must  have  impelled  them  to  take 
that  course.  The  man  will  no  doubt  remain  quiet  enough.  He  must 
know  that  a  false  move  would  cost  him  his  head,  and  so  he  will 
not  dare  to  show  himself  in  the  Rue  Vivienne ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  woman  will  probably  become  impatient.  She  will  be  anxious  to  see 
her  accomplice,  and  fancying  that  she  has  diverted  all  suspicion  from 
herself,  she  will  not  hesitate  to  go  and  meet  him  somewhere.  I  would 
therefore  suggest  that  you  should  employ  one  of  your  colleagues  to  dog 
her  steps,  to  follow  her  wherever  she  may  go  ;  and,  if  this  is  only  done, 
properly,  why,  we  shall  have  caught  the  murderer  before  another  forty- 
eight  hours  are  over  our  heads." 

M.  Mechinet  was  grumbling  unintelligibly  between  his  teeth,  and 
dipping  his  fingers  into  his  empty  snuff-box  with  all  his  wonted  persist- 
ency. At  first  he  gave  me  no  answer,  but  suddenly  leaning  forward  he 
exclaimed  :  "That  won't  do,  my  dear  fellow.  We  musn't  let  the  bird 
slip  through  our  fingers.  We  must  rather  strike  the  iron  while  it's  hot. 
No  doubt  you  possess  the  genius  requisite  for  the  profession — in  fact, 
I'm  sure  you  do ;  but  you  are  wanting  in  experience  and  practice. 
However,  fortunately  I'm  here.  Now,  listen  to  me.  A  single  phrase 
put  you  on  the  right  track,  and  yet  you  don't  follow  up  your  advan- 
tage." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Don't  understand  me?  But  that  dog,  we  must  turn  him  to  ac- 
count." 

"How  so?" 

"Well,  wait  and  you  shall  see.  In  an  hour's  time  or  so  Madame 
Monistrol  will  leave  her  shop,  for  she  has  to  be  at  the  Palais  de  Justice 
by  three  o'clock ;  and  the  little  servant  girl  will  remain  behind  alone. 
That  will  be  the  time  for  action,  and  you  will  see  how  I  shall  settle  the 
whole  business." 

I  did  everything  I  could  to  induce  M.  Mechinet  to  explain  himself 
properly ;  but  in  spite  of  all  my  prayers  and  exhortations  he  refused  to 
say  another  word  on  the  subject.  He  carried  me  off  to  the  nearest  cafe', 
and  compelled  me  to  play  him  a  game  at  dominoes,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  I  lost ;  for  my  mind  was  too  pre-occupied  to  allow  me  to  engage 
successfully  in  such  a  frivolous  pastime,  whereas  M.  Mechinet  possessed 
the  happy  gift  of  being  able  to  dismiss  business  from  his  thoughts  at  a 
moment's  notice.  Two  o'clock  was  striking  when  at  last  he  pushed  back 
the  dominoes  and  exclaimed  :  "To  work !  to  work." 

We  paid  the  score  and  left  the  caf6,  and  a  moment  later  we  were 
standing  once  more  under  the  arched  gateway  in  front  of  Monistrol's 
shop.  We  had  only  waited  there  a  few  minutes  when  we  saw  the  door 
open  and  the  jeweller's  wife  appear  upon  the  threshold.  She  wore  the 
same  black  dress  as  during  the  morning,  and  a  long  crape  veil  hang  from 
her  bonnet,  giving  her  the  appearance  of  a  widow.  "  She's  a  clever 
wench,"  grumbled  M.  Mechinet  between  his  teeth ;  "  she  means  to 
excite  the  magistrate's  compassion  and  sympathy." 

Whilst  he  was  speaking  she  walked  swiftly  down  the  street,  and  soon 
disappeared  from  view  in  tfep  direction  of  the  Palais  Royal.    However, 


46  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  BATIGNOLLES. 

M.  M^chinet  decided  to  wait  another  five  minutes  under  the  archway, 
and  then  catching  me  by  the  arm  he  led  me  towards  the  shop.  As  he  had 
opined,  the  little  servant  girl  was  quite  alone.  She  was  sitting  behind  the 
counter,  munching  a  piece  of  sugar  she  had  purloined  from  her  mistress. 
As  soon  as  we  entered  she  recognised  us,  and  rose  to  her  feet  with  a 
flushed  face  and  rather  frightened  air.  Before  she  could  open  her  mouth, 
however,  M.  Mechinet  roughly  asked  her:  "Where  is  Madame  Monis- 
trol  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  out,  monsieur." 

"  Gone  out !  That  can't  be.  You  must  be  deceiving  me.  She  must 
be  in  the  room  there,  behind  the  shop." 

"  Oh  no,  monsieur  ;  she  has  really  gone  out,  and  if  you  don't  believe 
me,  you  may  look  yourself." 

M.  Mechinet  struck  his  forehead,  as  if  he  were  grievously  disappointed. 
"  What  a  pity,  what  a  pity  1 "  he  repeated.  "  How  disappointed  poor 
Madame  Monistrol  will  be  !  "  And  as  the  girl  gazed  at  him,  with  gaping 
mouth  and  astonished  eyes,  he  continued  :  "  But  perhaps  you  might  be 
able  to  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know,  my  good  girl.  I  have  only  come 
back  because  I  have  lost  the  address  of  the  person  your  mistress  asked 
me  to  visit." 

"  What  person,  monsieur  ?  " 

"Ah!  you  know  him.     Monsieur  .     Confound  it!    Why,  I've 

even  forgotten  his  name  now  !    Monsieur .     Monsieur .     But 

Burely  you'll  recollect  him.  He's  the  person  that  your  dog  Pluto  obeys 
so  readily." 

"Ah  yes,  monsieur  !    I  know  who  you  mean  ;  it's  Monsieur  Victor." 

"Yes,  that's  it,  to  a  T.  Monsieur  Victor  !  I  mustn't  forget  again. 
By  the  way,  what  does  he  do,  this  Monsieur  Victor  1  " 

"  He's  a  working  jeweller,  monsieur.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  Mon- 
sieur Monistrol's,  and  they  used  to  work  together  before  M.  Monistrol 
set  up  in  business.  That's  why  M.  Victor  can  do  anything  he  likes  with 
Pluto." 

"  Ah  !  Then,  if  that's  the  case,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  this 
Monsieur  Victor  lives  ?  " 

' '  Certainly  I  can,  monsieur  ;  he  lives  at  No.  23  Rue  du  Roi  Dor6,  in 
the  Marais." 

The  poor  girl  was  seemingly  delighted  to  be  able  to  furnish  all  this 
information  ;  but  it  was  not  without  a  pang  that  I  heard  her  answer  in 
this  trusting  manner,  unconsciously  betraying  the  secret  which  her 
mistress  must  hold  as  dear  as  life  itself.  M.  Mechinet's  was  a  more 
hardened  nature,  however  ;  and,  far  from  being  touched  by  this  in- 
voluntary treachery,  he  grimly  indulged  in  a  stroke  of  sarcasm. 
"Thanks,"  said  he,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  shop.  "Thanks;  you 
have  just  rendered  your  mistress  a  very  great  service  indeed,  and  she 
will  be  exceedingly  pleased  with  you."  Then,  with  a  chuckle,  he  opened 
the  door,  and  we  walked  out  into  the  street, 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  I1AT1GNOLLES.  47 


XII. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  hurry  off  to  the  Rue  du  Roi  Dor3,  and  apprehend 
this  fellow  Victor,  who,  plainly  enough,  was  the  real  murderer  ;  but  M. 
Meehinet  damped  my  enthusiasm  with  the  remark  :  "  And  the  law  ! 
Don't  you  know  that  we  are  powerless  to  act,  so  long  as  we  are  without 
a  warrant  ?  We  must,  first  of  all,  go  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  inter- 
view the  investigating  magistrate. " 

"But  suppose  we  meet  Madame  Monistrol  there?"  I  asked.  "If 
she  sees  us,  she  will  certainly  warn  her  accomplice." 

"Perhaps  so,"  retorted  M.  Meehinet,  with  undisguised  bitterness; 
"  perhaps  so.  The  culprit  may  escape,  simply  because  we  have  to  go 
through  so  many  irksome  formalities.  Still,  I  might  perchance  parry 
the  blow.     However,  let  us  make  haste.     Come,  stretch  out  your  legs." 

Anxiety  and  hope  of  success  lent  unparalleled  speed  to  both  of  us,  and 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  we  were  scrambling  up  the  staircase  of 
the  Palais  de  Justice.  The  offices  occupied  by  the  investigating  magi- 
strates communicate  with  a  long  gallery,  where  several  attendants  are 
invariably  stationed  to  answer  all  inquiries.  "  Can  you  tell  me  ?  "  asked 
M.  Meehinet,  in  a  breathless  voice  ;  ' '  can  you  tell  me  if  the  magistrate 
who  has  to  deal  with  the  murder  of  the  little  old  man  of  Batignolles  is 
in  his  office  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  answered  one  of  the  attendants  ;  "  but  he  has  a  witness 
with  him  just  now — a  young  woman  dressed  in  black." 

"  That  must  be  Madame  Monistrol,"  whispered  the  detective  in  my 
ear  ;  and  then,  turning  again  to  the  attendant,  he  added  aloud  :  "  You 
know  who  I  am,  so  just  give  me  a  pen  and  a  slip  of  paper,  that  I  may 
write  a  word  to  the  magistrate.  Take  it  to  him,  and  bring  me  back  the 
answer." 

The  attendant  started  off,  dragging  his  shoes  along  the  dusty  floor  of 
the  gallery,  and  soon  returned  to  say  that  the  magistrate  was  waiting 
for  us  in  an  adjoining  room.  To  receive  M.  Meehinet,  he  had  indeed 
left  Madame  Monistrol  in  his  own  office  with  his  clerk,  and  had  borrowed 
the  use  of  one  of  his  colleagues'  rooms. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  tone  which  allowed  me  to  esti- 
mate the  immense  difference  between  an  investigating  magistrate  and  a 
humble  detective. 

In  a  clear,  brief  manner,  M.  Meehinet  related  what  we  had  accom- 
plished, what  he  had  learnt,  and  what  we  hoped  for.  But  the  magistrate 
scarcely  seemed  inclined  to  share  our  views.  ' '  All  that  is  very  interest- 
ing," said  he  ;  "  but  Monistrol  confesses."  And,  with  an  obstinacy  that 
well  nigh  maddened  me,  he  kept  on  repeating  :  "  He  confesses,  he  con- 
fesses. "  However,  after  another  series  of  protracted  explanations,  he  at 
last  consented  to  sign  a  warrant,  authorising  my  neighbour  to  apprehend 
Madame  Monistrol's  presumed  lover — M.  Victor. 

As  soon  as  the  detective  was  in  possession  of  this  indispensable  docu- 
ment, he  hurriedly  bowed  to  the  magistrate,  aril  bounded  out  of  the 
room,  along  the  passage,  and  down  the  stairs.  It  was  as  much  as  I  could 
do  to  keep  up  with  him,  and  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  covered 


48  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OV  BATIGNOLLES. 

the  whole  distance,  from  the  Palace  of  Justice  to  the  Rue  du  Roi  J)or6 — 
one  of  those  narrow  unkempt  streets  in  the  heart  of  the  Marais,  where 
each  tenement  is  a  busy  hive  of  industry,  and  whence  articles  de  Paris, 
in  all  varieties,  go  forth  to  the  entire  world. 

On  reaching  the  corner  of  the  street,  M.  Mechinet  paused  to  draw 
breath.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "attention!"  And  with  an  air  of  complete 
composure,  he  entered  the  narrow  alley  of  the  house  bearing  the  number 
23.     "  M.  Victor,  if  you  please  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  doorkeeper. 

"  On  the  fourth  floor,  monsieur — the  door  on  the  right  hand  as  you 
reach  the  landing." 

"Is  he  at  home?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  must  be  at  work." 

M.  Mechinet  took  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  staircase,  and  then 
abruptly  pausing,  turned  round  again,  faced  the  doorkeeper,  and  ex- 
claimed :  "I  must  treat  my  old  friend,  Victor,  to  a  good  bottle  of  wine. 
What  wine  shop  does  he  usually  go  to  near  here  ?  " 

"  To  the  one  over  the  way." 

We  reached  the  shop  in  six  strides,  and  with  the  air  of  an  habits,  M. 
Mechinet  immediately  ordered  :  "A  bottle  of  wine,  please— something 
good.     That  wine  of  yours  with  the  green  seal  !  " 

I  must  confess  that  this  idea  had  not  occurred  to  me,  and  yet  it  was 
simple  enough.  As  soon  as  the  bottle  was  brought,  my  companion  pro- 
duced the  green-sealed  cork  which  I  had  found  in  the  bedroom  at 
Batignolles,  and  we  immediately  perceived  that  the  wax  was  identical 
in  shade  and  appearance  with  that  on  the  cork  of  the  bottle  that  had 
just  been  served  to  us.  Thus  our  moral  certitude  was  reinforced  by  a 
material  proof.  As  M.  Mechinet  had  no  intention  of  regaling  M. 
Victor  with  the  bottle  of  wine  he  had  ordered,  we  proceeded  to  imbibe 
its  contents,  and  then  recrossed  the  street  and  climbed  the  stairs  of 
"No.  23." 

M.  Mechinet  gave  a  sharp  rat-tat  at  Victor's  door,  and  a  voice  with  a 
pleasant  ring  immediately  responded,  "Come  in."  The  key  was  out- 
side, and  accordingly  we  opened  the  door.  At  a  table,  placed  before 
the  window  of  the  room  we  entered,  sat  a  man  wearing  a  black  blouse, 
and  engaged  in  setting  a  stone  in  a  gold  ring.  He  was  a  fellow  of 
thirty  or  thereabouts,  tall  and  thin,  with  a  pale  face  and  black  hair. 
He  was  scarcely  handsome,  but  his  features  were  fairly  regular,  and  his 
eyes  were  not  without  expression. 

He  seemed  in  no  wise  disconcerted  by  our  visit.  "What  do  you 
desire,  gentlemen?  "  he  asked  politely,  at  the  same  time  turning  round 
on  his  stool. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  law  I  arrest  you  ! "  exclaimed  M.  Mechinet, 
springing  forward  and  catching  the  workman  by  the  arm. 

Victor  turned  livid,  but  he  did  not  lower  his  eyes.  "  Don't  play  the 
fool,"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  insolent  tone.     "What  have  I  done  ?  " 

M.  Mechinet  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Come,  no  child's  play, 
please,"  said  he;  "your  account  is  settled.  You  were  seen  when  you 
left  the  Rue  de  Lecluse  at  Batignolles,  and  in  my  pocket  I've  got  the 
cork  in  which  you  planted  your  dagger  so  as  to  prevent  the  point  from 
breaking." 

These  words  proved  a  crushing  blow  for  the  murderer,  who,  taken 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLES.  49 

utterly  by  surprise,  fell  back  against  his  table,  stammering,  "I  am 
innocent,  I  am  innocent  !  " 

"You  can  say  that  to  the  magistrate,"  retorted  M.  M<5chinet  ;  "but 
I'm  very  much  afraid  that  he  won't  believe  you.  Why,  your  accom- 
plice, the  woman  Monistrol,  has  confessed  everything." 

"That's  impossible!  "  replied  Victor,  springing  up  as  if  he  had  been 
touched  by  an  electric  battery.     "  She  knew  nothing  about  it." 

"Oh!  so  then  you  planned  the  little  game  by  yourself,  eh?  All 
right.     That  confession  will  do  to  begin  with." 

And  turning  towards  me,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  knows  what  he 
is  about,  M.  M^chinet  added  :  "  Please  just  search  the  drawers,  M. 
Godeuil.  In  one  or  another  of  them  you  will  probably  find  this  fine 
fellow's  dagger,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  light  on  his  mistress's  portrait  and 
her  love  letters." 

Victor  clenched  his  teeth  with  rage,  and  a  gleam  of  fury  shot  from 
his  dark  eyes ;  but  he  no  doubt  realised  that  all  resistance  would  be 
futile  against  a  man  of  M.  M^chinet's  muscular  build,  endowed  with 
such  a  pair  of  iron  wrists. 

In  a  chest  of  drawers  in  one  corner  of  the  room  I  speedily  found  the 
dagger,  the  portrait,  and  the  love  letters,  just  as  my  companion  had 
opined  ;  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  Victor  had  been  securely 
stowed  away  in  a  cab  between  M.  M^ehinet  and  myself,  and  was  rolling 
in  the  direction  of  the  Prefecture  de  Police.  The  simplicity  of  the 
scene  had  well  nigh  stupefied  me.  "And  so,"  I  mused,  "that's  how  a 
murderer  is  arrested.  What,  is  it  no  more  difficult  than  that  to  secure 
the  person  of  a  man  whose  crime  is  punishable  with  death  ?  "  But  in 
later  years  I  learnt  at  my  own  cost  and  peril  that  there  are  other 
criminals  of  a  far  more  dangerous  stamp. 

As  for  Victor,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  a  cell  at  the  D^pot,  he 
gave  himself  up  as  lost,  and  made  a  most  minute  confession  of  his  crime. 
He  told  us  that  being  one  of  Monistrol's  friends,  he  had  been  acquainted 
with  old  M.  Pigoreau  for  several  years.  His  main  object  in  murdering 
him  had  been  to  designate  Monistrol  for  the  punishment  of  the  law,  and 
for  this  reason  he  had  dressed  himself  like  the  jeweller,  and  had  taken 
Pluto  to  Batignolles.  As  soon  as  the  poor  old  man  had  ceased  to  live, 
he  had  seized  him  by  the  hand,  dipped  one  of  his  fingers  in  the  blood 
that  flowed  from  the  fatal  wound,  and  traced  on  the  floor  those  five 
letters,  M  0  N  I  S — the  discovery  of  which  had  so  nearly  resulted  in  a 
deplorable  judicial  error.  "  Ah  !  it  was  cleverly  combined,"  he  added, 
with  cynical  effrontery;  "if  I  had  only  succeeded,  I  killed  two  birds 
with  one  stone.  On  the  one  hand,  I  got  rid  of  that  fool  Monistrol, 
whom  I  hated,  and  I  enriched  the  woman  I  loved.  No  doubt  I  might 
have  persuaded  her  to  live  with  me,  after  her  husband  had  gone  either 
to  the  scaffold  or  the  galleys.     But  now " 

"  Ah  !  my  fine  fellow  !  "  retorted  M.  M6chinet ;  "  unfortunately  for 
you,  you  lost  your  head  at  the  last  moment.  But  then,  no  one  is  per- 
fect. When  you  traced  those  letters  in  blood  on  the  floor,  you  made  a 
terrible  mistake,  for  you  wrote  them  with  one  of  the  fingers  of  the  old 
man's  left  hand." 

Victor  sprung  to  his  feet  in  astonishment.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
that  put  you  on  my  track  1  "  he  asked. 


50  THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OP  tATIGNOLLES. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

With  the  gesture  of  a  man  whose  genius  is  misjudged,  Victor  raised 
his  arms  to  the  ceiling.  "  Ah  !  "  said  he  ;  "  it's  no  use  being  an  artist 
— no  use  remaining  true  to  nature  !  "  And,  with  a  glance  of  mingled 
pity  and  contempt,  he  added  :  "  Don't  you  know  that  old  M.  Pigoreau 

Was  LEFT-HANDED  ?  " 

He  spoke  the  truth,  as  subsequent  inquiries  enabled  me  to  ascertain. 
So  thus,  it  was  a  mistake — a  blunder  perpetrated  by  myself — which, 
after  all,  had  led  us  to  the  truth.  The  discovery,  on  which  I  had  so 
particularly  prided  myself,  was,  in  reality,  none  at  all.  And  it  was 
strange,  indeed,  that  none  of  us  had  ever  ventured  to  surmise  that  the 
little  old  man  of  Batignolles  might  have  been  in  the  habit  of  writing 
with  his  left  hand.  It  is  true  that  such  cases  are  not  very  frequent — 
still  they  exist  ;  but  neither  the  magistrate  nor  the  commissary,  neither 
M.  Mechinet  nor  his  wife,  had  for  one  moment  met  my  so-called  dis- 
covery with  such  an  objection — so  true  it  is  that  the  simplest  things 
often  escape  our  minds.  However,  the  lesson  was  not  lost  to  me,  for  I 
profited  by  it,  with  good  result,  on  a  subsequent  occasion  of  my  after 
life  as  a  detective. 

On  the  morrow,  Monistrol  was  released  from  prison.  The  investigating 
magistrate  reproached  him  in  stringent  terms,  for  having  led  justice 
astray ;  but  he  met  all  exhortations  and  reproaches  with  the  same 
answer  :  "I  love  my  wife.  .  I  wished  to  sacrifice  myself  for  her.  , 
I  thought  that  she  was  guilty. " 

He  would  say  no  more,  but  his  conduct  implied  that  he  must  have 
had  some  very  serious  grounds  to  believe  in  his  wife's  guilt.  What  could 
they  have  been  ?  I  decided,  in  my  own  mind,  that  Madame  Clara  must 
have  previously  tried  to  tempt  her  husband  to  commit  this  crime  ;  but, 
although  weak-minded,  beyond  a  doubt,  and  passionately  attached  to 
her,  he  had  nevertheless  had  the  courage  to  resist  her  entreaties.  Find- 
ing that  her  efforts  were  useless,  she  had,  no  doubt,  turned  to  her  lover, 
who  proved  to  be  of  a  more  pliable  character — especially  when  he  was 
offered  such  a  prize  as  wealth  and  undisputed  possession  of  the  woman 
he  loved  ;  for  the  latter  contingency  would,  no  doubt,  have  followed, 
had  Monistrol  been  sent  to  the  scaffold  or  the  galleys. 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  I  explained  the  affair  to  myself.  I  could 
swear  that  Madame  Monistrol  was  the  instigator  of  the  crime.  And 
yet  she  escaped  punishment.  Juries  do  not  content  themselves  with 
moral  proof  ;  and  the  discovery  of  her  letters  and  her  portrait  in  Victor's 
room,  was  not  accounted  sufficient  evidence  against  her,  when  she  ap- 
peared at  the  assizes  by  her  lover's  side.  She  was,  moreover,  defended 
by  one  of  the  most  famous  advocates  of  the  Paris  bar  ;  and  then,  her 
tears,  which  flowed  at  will,  no  doubt,  touched  the  hearts  of  her  judge3 
with  compassion.  Her  charms,  like  those  of  Phyrnd,  might  also  have 
inspired  them  with  a  yet  more  tender  sentiment.  To  be  brief,  she  was 
acquitted  ;  whilst  Victor,  in  whose  favour  the  jury  saddled  their  verdict 
with  an  admission  of  "extenuating  circumstances,"  was  sentenced  to 
hard  labour  for  life. 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  OF  BATIGNOLLB8.  51 

After  giving  such  proof  of  his  conjugal  attachment,  it  is  scarcely  sur- 
prising that  weak-minded  M.  Monistrol  should  have  taken  his  wife  back  tc 
his  home,  if  not  entirely  to  his  heart,  when,  after  securing  the  benefit  of  a 
doubt,  she  was  ordered  to  be  set  at  liberty.  As  a  matter  of  course,  old  M. 
Pigoreau's  fortune  was  handed  over  to  the  jeweller,  but,  with  Madame 
Monistrol's  extravagant  tastes,  it  could  not  be  expected  to  last  long. 
Now-a-days,  the  Monistrols  keep  an  ill-famed  drinking  den  on  the  Cours 
de  Vincennes,  nigh  the  Place  du  Trone,  and  when  the  barriere  bullies, 
who  are  their  principal  customers,  are  in  a  good  humour,  they  pay  mock- 
ing court  to  the  wife,  now  a  corpulent  woman,  with  a  bloated  face  and 
a  husky  voice,  and  sadly  addicted  to  brandy  and  absinthe.  Her  charms 
have  fled  long  since,  like  old  Antenor's  money  ;  and  she  and  her  weak- 
minded  husband,  whom  she  often  beats  in  her  fits  of  drunkenness,  are 
swiftly  descending  the  slope  of  degradation  and  misery. 

J.  B.  Casimir  Godeoil. 


THE  MATRIMONIAL  AMBASSADOR: 

MONSIEUR  J.  D.  DE  SAINT-ROCH. 


No  one  ever  knew  exactly  why  Pascal  Divorne  resigned  his  position  aa 
a  Government  engineer,  within  a  fortnight  after  leaving  the  "  Ecole  des 
Fonts  et  Chaussees."  He,  himself,  refrained  from  giving  any  explana- 
tions whatever — -perhaps  because  he  had  no  good  ones  to  give.  I  mean 
that  he  was  unable  to  assign  for  his  conduct  any  of  those  specious  reasons, 
based  on  certain  interest  and  prudent  egotism,  which  alone  satisfy 
people  of  a  commercial  mind.  And  yet,  he  had  plenty  of  opportunities 
of  telling  the  truth,  or  even  of  lying — had  he  been  so  minded — for  every 
acquaintance  and  distant  relative  that  he  possessed  within  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Paris  sounded  him  as  skilfully  and  as  cunningly  as  they 
could.  They  seemed  to  scent  some  mysterious  little  secret,  or,  better 
still,  some  spicy  little  scandal ;  and  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  they  were 
so  anxious  to  ascertain  the  truth. 

But  Pascal  was  unkind  enough  not  to  admit  them  into  his  confidence. 
He  estimated,  at  their  true  value,  all  the  pestering,  inquisitive  folks  who 
pretended  to  take,  in  his  welfare,  an  interest  which  they  had  never  really 
felt.  He  deliberately  laughed  in  the  faces  of  all  his  obliging  acquaint- 
ances, with  honeyed  tongues,  who  were  wont  to  smile  most  obsequiously 
at  success,  but  who  invariably  tightened  their  purse-strings  at  the  first 
glimpse  of  misfortune.  But,  despite  his  rebuffs,  a  few  of  them  proved 
obstinately  pertinacious,  and,  in  his  desire  to  get  rid  of  them,  once  and 
for  all,  Pascal  drew  them  aside,  and,  glancing  round  him  like  a  sus- 
picious conspirator,  whispered  in  their  ears  the  one  mysterious  word — 
"politics."  Now,  it  was  difficult,  indeed,  to  imagine  that  politics  could 
have  had  anything  to  do  with  his  resignation,  for  he  had  never  evinced 
the  slightest  interest  in  party  questions  ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  strata- 
gem succeeded,  and  his  obstinate  questioners  fled  in  terror,  as  if  they 
already  perceived  the  dungeons  of  Mont  St.  Michel  about  to  close  upon 
them,  and  heard  the  jingle  of  the  gaoler's  keys. 

Having  thus  repulsed  the  enemy,  Pascal  was  left  alone  ;  but  relatives 
and  acquaintances  alike  went  forth  into  society,  repeating  that  he  was  a 
most  unsociable  young  man,  utterly  wanting  in  frankness,  and  most  par- 


54  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

ticularly  to  be  feared  on  account  of  his  dreadfully  advanced  opinions. 
As  for  the  few  whom  Pascal  considered  to  be  really  his  friends,  he  simply 
owned  to  them  that  although  he  was  a  Frenchman,  and  a  very  good 
patriot  to  boot,  he  held  all  kinds  of  uniform  in  horror,  however  de- 
corated and  embroidered  they  might  be — adding  that  Government  em- 
ployment was  not  at  all  suited  to  his  character ;  that  he  preferred  running 
the  risks  of  trade  to  receiving  a  fixed  salary,  however  high  ;  and  that  he 
treasured  personal  independence  far  more  than  administrative  honours, 
even  had  the  latter  come  in  the  form  of  a  ministerial  portfolio.  After 
all,  the  friends  to  whom  he  spoke  in  this  fashion  were  quite  indifferent 
as  to  the  hidden  motive  of  his  conduct.  It  was  all  the  same  to  them 
whether  he  did  one  thing  or  the  other,  and,  accordingly,  they  unani- 
mously declared  that  his  voice  was  the  voice  of  wisdom,  and  that  he  was 
quite  right  in  choosing  his  own  road. 

The  only  person  who  blamed  the  young  engineer,  and  paternally  de- 
clared that  he  had  acted  with  imprudent  precipitation,  was  his  bosom 
friend  and  confidant,  his  old  college  chum — Eugene  Lorilleux.  During 
several  years  they  had  studied  together,  and  they  had  remained  on  terms 
of  the  closest  intimacy  ever  since.  Pascal's  faithful  Achates  and  would- 
be  Mentor  was  but  two  or  three  years  older  than  himself,  and,  having 
secured  the  diploma  of  Doctor  of  Medicine,  some  eighteen  months  pre- 
viously, was  now  patiently  striving  to  create  himself  a  practice.  The 
outset  of  a  doctor's  career  is  more  beset  with  difficulties  than  any  other. 
]No  doubt,  M.  Lorilleux  already  possessed  a  certain  number  of  patients, 
but  they  were  patients  who  only  paid  under  compulsion,  or  else  did  not 
pay  at  all.  They  lived  on  the  upper  floors  of  third-rate  tenements— 
often  in  mere  garrets — and  he  frequently  had  to  climb  six  flights  of  stairs 
to  sign  a  prescription.  At  home  he  had  two  consulting  hours,  the  first 
of  which  was  gratuitous  ;  the  second  being  nominally  reserved  for  folks 
in  a  position  to  pay  a  modest  honorarium.  He  might,  however,  have 
dispensed  with  the  distinction,  for  those  who  called  upon  him  were  all 
equally  indigent.  Still,  he  was  patient — he  was  waiting  for  that  "  tide 
in  the  affairs  of  man  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune."  And 
besides,  he  relied  a  great  deal  on  his  knowledge,  and  his  talent,  to  pro- 
cure him  both  renown  and  wealth.  In  this  he  was  mistaken.  His  mind 
was,  no  doubt,  stored  with  learning ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  waa 
wanting  in  sang-froid,  audacity,  and  swift  perception.  In  his  consulting 
room,  he  was  sure  of  himself — no  one  could  expound  a  scientific  theory 
more  completely  and  clearly  ;  but,  by  a  patient's  bedside,  matters  proved 
very  different :  he  lacked  that  divining  power,  that  fund  of  inspiration 
which  only  the  great  and  true  masters  of  the  healing  art  possess.  And 
yet,  it  must  not  be  thought  that  Lorilleux  was  a  common-place  kind  of 
man.  His  greatest  misfortune  was,  that  he  had  never  experienced  such 
a  feeling  as  enthusiasm.  Youthful  emotions  seemed  foreign  to  his  nature ; 
it  was  as  if  he  had  been  born  prematurely  old.  He  was  short  of  stature, 
and  remarkably  solemn  in  manner,  exaggerating  his  professional  gravity 
and  dignity  to  such  a  point  that,  at  times,  he  seemed  perfectly  ridiculous. 
His  clean-shaven,  plain  face  was  certainly  not  the  mirror  of  his  mind, 
but  rather  a  white  page  on  which  nothing  whatever  could  be  deciphered. 
Possessed  of  all  the  cunning  pettifoging  instincts  of  a  Norman  peasant, 
he  absurdly  imagined  that  every  one  else  was  similarly  endowed,  and 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  55 

he  invariably  ascribed  some  hidden  purport  to  the  most  insignificant 
actions.  He  did  not  believe  in  spontaneous  impulses.  To  his  mind, 
people  always  acted  after  due  meditation  ;  and  he  spent  a  fair  portion 
of  his  time  in  rebutting  fantastic  plots  by  skilful  manoeuvring,  and  in 
seeking  to  penetrate  imaginary  mysteries  by  dint  of  cunning  and  appli- 
cation. His  exaggerated  fears,  and  laborious  investigations,  absolutely 
embittered  his  life.  He  treated  existence  as  if  it  were  a  series  of  mathe- 
matical problems,  and  traced  himself  a  line  of  conduct,  from  which  he 
fancied  that  chance  could  never  possibly  divert  him.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances, his  narrow  mind  and  petty  ideas  could  scarcely  provoke 
astonishment.  He  was  quite  the  reverse  of  Pascal,  who,  with  a  broad, 
liberal  mind,  united  considerable  power  of  conception  and  initiative  ;  for 
which  very  reason  he  was  denounced  by  Lorilleux  as  altogether  a  romantic 
being. 

The  law  of  contrast  would  alone  suffice  to  explain  the  friendship  of 
these  two  young  men  ;  but  there  was  something  else  besides.  For  several 
years  the  doctor  had  entertained  certain  views  concerning  his  friend,  of 
which  the  latter  was  ignorant.  These  views  may  be  easily  explained. 
Lorilleux  had  a  sister,  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached  ;  and  often,  in 
his  youthful  days,  when  his  schoolmates  were  busy  with  their  pleasure, 
he  had  asked  himself  what  would  be  her  future  in  life  ?  Their  mother 
was  a  widow,  and  subsisted  on  a  scanty  pension,  which  would  expire  at 
her  death.  One  day  she  must  follow  the  common  example  of  humanity  : 
and  then,  what  would  become  of  the  young  girl  ?  It  is  very  difficult, 
indeed,  now-a-days  to  find  a  husband  for  a  portionless  maiden  ;  and  all 
their  relatives  were  so  poor  that  there  was  no  hope  of  assistance  coming 
from  them.  On  the  other  hand,  despite  all  his  energy  and  application, 
Lorilleux  could  not  possibly  manage  to  amass  a  dowry  for  his  sister,  in 
time  for  her  twentieth  year  ;  and  so,  how  was  he  to  find  her  a  husband  ? 
Whilst  he  was  revolving  these  thoughts  in  his  precocious  mind,  the  idea 
occurred  to  him  that  his  friend  Pascal  would,  in  a  few  years'  time,  prove 
a  capital  match  for  this  sister  of  his  ;  and  he  considered  that,  with  a 
little  skill  and  patience,  such  a  marriage  might  be  easily  effected.  "My 
sister's  poverty,"  he  thought,  "will  not  prove  an  obstacle.  Pascal's 
family  is  well  off,  and  he,  himself,  is  remarkably  disinterested.  My  sister 
will  be  pretty,  and  modest,  and  clever.  She  will  make  her  husband  as 
happy  as  can  be  desired,  and  she  will  prove  the  best  mother  in  the 
world.  Pascal  will  certainly  like  her  ;  and  besides,  if  he  doesn't  marry 
her  for  herself,  he  will  do  so  out  of  affection  for  me,  so  as  to  strengthen 
our  bonds  of  friendship  by  adding  a  fraternal  tie.  In  this  manner  I  shall 
assure  the  happiness  of  the  two  beings  who  are  dear  to  me,  and  all  my 
actions  must  converge  towards  that  object." 

This,  then,  is  why  Lorilleux  became  Pascal's  intimate  friend,  and  why 
he  evinced  such  a  tender  interest  in  the  young  engineer's  welfare.  He 
knew,  almost  to  a  farthing,  how  much  his  friend's  father  and  mother 
would  leave  behind  them  when  they  died  ;  and,  one  holiday  time,  he 
had  spent  a  fortnight  in  Brittany,  with  the  view  of  cultivating  their 
acquaintance,  and  studying  their  characters — returning  to  Paris,  con- 
vinced that  they,  at  least,  would  never  raise  any  objection  to  the  match 
he  had  set  his  mind  on.  Lorilleux  was  too  prudent  ever  to  allude  to  the 
hopes  he  entertained  ;  for  his  sister  was  still  too  young,  and  Pascal  had 


56  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOB. 

not  yet  finished  his  studies.     He  must  wait  till  the  pear  was  ripe,  and 
so  he  waited. 

But,  in  the  meanwhile,  he  lavished  treasures  of  friendship  on  Pascal, 
and  one  might  almost  have  imagined  that  he  was  a  fond  mother  petting 
a  spoilt  child.  It  was  with  the  very  greatest  solicitude  that  he  ques- 
tioned Pascal  on  family  matters,  and  notably  concerning  the  number  of 
his  aunts  and  uncles,  and  their  progeniture.  For  might  there  not  be 
some  little  cousin,  in  some  distant  convent  or  boarding  school,  who  would 
one  day  prove  eligible  for  matrimony?  Lorilleux  drew  a  very  long 
breath  of  relief,  indeed,  when,  in  answer  to  his  artful  questions,  Pascal 
stated  that  he  had  only  two  cousins,  and  that  both  of  them  were  boys. 
So  there  was,  at  least,  nothing  to  be  feared  in  that  direction. 

When  Pascal  was  admitted  to  the  Ecole  Polytechnique,  Lorilleux 
was  certainly  the  happier  of  the  two.  How  he  congratulated  his  friend  ! 
What  a  hymn  he  sung  in  his  praise  !  But,  in  his  own  mind,  he  was 
murmuring,  "  Well,  my  sister  will  marry  an  artillery  officer  !  " 

However,  Pascal  secured  third  honours,  and  then  decided  to  enter  the 
Ecole  des  Ponts  et  Chauss6es.  Lorilleux,  who  had  influenced  this  deter- 
mination, rubbed  his  hands  with  delight.  "  Bravo  !  "  he  muttered  ;  "a 
garrison  life  would  not  have  suited  my  sister.  I  shall  be  better  pleased 
to  see  her  the  wife  of  a  Government  engineer." 

As  such  were  the  doctor's  ideas,  it  will  be  easily  understood  how  vexed 
and  disappointed  he  felt,  when  the  young  engineer  abruptly  sent  in  his 
resignation,  without  so  much  as  a  word  of  warning,  or  a  single  appeal 
for  advice.  In  fact,  Lorilleux  looked  on  this  act  of  independence  as  an 
insult.  "  What  an  idea  !  Who  ever  heard  of  any  one  giving  up  a  secure 
position,  abandoning  such  a  splendid  career?"  he  growled.  "Pascal 
is  altogether  too  frivolous." 

Nevertheless,  he  continued  to  keep  his  resentment  within  bounds. 
Young  Divorne  was  a  Breton,  and  consequently  of  an  obstinate  nature, 
so  that  Lorilleux  realised  it  would  be  waste  of  time  to  try  and  in- 
duce him  to  recall  his  decision.  Any  attempt  in  that  direction  might 
moreover  lead  to  an  estrangement — a  contingency  which  might  for  ever 
crush  Lorilleux's  hopes.  Still  he  ventured  to  blame  his  friend  in  a 
paternal  fashion,  and  repeatedly  endeavoured  to  ascertain  what  were 
his  plans  for  the  future.  "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  doing?  "he 
asked  Pascal,  "  There  are  five  years  lost." 

"Lost,  my  dear  fellow?  "  answered  Divorne  ;  "  why,  I  thought  I  had 
turned  them  to  profit." 

"  Well,  but  what  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

"  You  shall  see.     I  have  my  plan." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Lorilleux  with  vexation;  "  you  didn't  speak  to  me 
about  it." 

"  Because  I  mean  it  to  be  a  surprise." 

' '  Indeed  !  Well,  I  can  assure  you  that  no  one  is  more  anxious  for 
your  success  than  I  am.  Remember  that  life  is  not  a  novel,  save  in  as 
much  as  it  is  made  up  of  deceptions.  At  all  events  my  friendship  re- 
quires that  I  should  tell  you  my  opinion,  and  that  is,  that  you  have 
acted  very  foolishly." 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  57 


II. 

Unfortunately  for  Pascal,  his  father  entertained  precisely  the  same 
opinion  as  Lorilleux.  When  the  news  of  the  young  engineer's  resigna- 
tion reached  M.  Divorne,  senior,  at  Lannion  in  Brittany,  where  he 
practised  as  a  solicitor  (avout),  it  fell  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt.  All 
his  hopes  were  blighted.  The  dream  of  his  life  had  been  to  see  his  son 
in  the  embroidered  uniform  of  a  State  engineer,  with  a  cocked  hat  on 
his  head  and  a  sword  by  his  side ;  and  to  walk  through  the  streets  of 
Lannion  leaning  on  his  arm.  Now  at  the  very  moment  when  this  dream 
was  about  to  become  a  reality,  Pascal  capriciously  abandoned  his  posi- 
tion and  sacrificed  his  prospects,  without  so  much  as  a  word  of  explana- 
tion or  excuse. 

This  was  enough  to  vex  any  father;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  M.  Divorne 
was  angered  beyond  expression.  He  had  spent  thirty  thousand  francs 
on  Pascal's  education,  and  he  asked  himself  if,  after  such  sacrifices,  a 
son  had  the  right  to  abandon  his  career  in  life  without  his  parent's 
authorisation.  Although,  as  a  solicitor,  he  ought  to  have  had  the  law 
on  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  he  found  himself  in  great  perplexity  on  this 
point,  and  he  even  consulted  a  colleague  to  know  if  a  young  fellow  who 
had  only  been  able  to  enter  the  service  of  the  state,  with  his  father's 
consent,  was  legally  competent  to  withdraw  from  that  same  service 
contrary  to  the  parental  desire.  Alas  !  he  learnt  that  Pascal's  right  to 
act  in  this  disgraceful  fashion  was  quite  above  question,  for  was  he  not 
already  four  and  twenty  years  of  age  ?  In  his  anger  M.  Divorne  cursed 
the  legislature  for  endowing  children  with  such  preposterous  privileges 
as  soon  as  they  were  twenty  one  ;  and  he,  who  in  other  circumstances 
was  such  a  fervent  admirer  of  the  "  Code  Napoleon,"  reproached  the  law 
with  ridiculous  want  of  foresight. 

As  if  his  grief  and  anger  were  not  already  sufficiently  acute,  he  was 
moreover  fated  to  meet  with  mournful  faces  wherever  he  chanced  to 
turn.  The  folks  of  Lannion  seemed  determined  to  remind  him  of  his 
misfortune.  The  news  of  Pascal's  resignation  had  indeed  spread  through 
the  town  in  no  time,  at  once  becoming  tl  e  one  great  subject  of  conversa- 
tion among  all  the  local  gossips  and  scandalmongers.  The  father  was 
pitied,  and  the  son  condemned  beyond  appeal.  Pascal,  so  the  tittle- 
tattlers  said,  was  a  good  for  nothing,  a  ne'er-do-well,  who  would 
certainly  come  to  a  bad  end.  Really  the  solicitor  was  most  unfortunate 
in  having  such  a  son,  who  some  fine  day  would  probably  disgrace  his 
family  altogether.  One  gossip  declared  that  M.  Divorne  already  looked 
ten  years  older  than  he  was,  and  another  almost  stated  that  his  hair 
had  turned  white  in  a  single  night.  In  one  word,  if  Pascal  had  ruined 
his  family,  committed  forgery,  and  deserved  the  galleys,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  severely  blamed  than  he  was,  so  great  is  the  amenity 
of  charitable  souls  in  little  provincial  towns. 

For  an  entire  week  Madame  Divorne's  drawing-room  was  crowded 
with  visitors.  She  had  never  had  so  many  friends  before.  Every  one 
with  whom  she  was  in  the  slightest  degree  acquainted  discovered  some 
[/retext  to  call  upon  her,  so  its  to  learu  the  truth  concerning  this  sad 


58  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

affair,  and  charitably  revive  her  sufferings.  It  must  be  stated  that 
despite  all  the  mock  pity  evinced  for  Pascal's  parents,  a  great  many 
people  declared  among  themselves  that  the  punishment  was  by  no 
means  undeserved.  The  solicitor  had  always  been  such  a  fortunate 
man,  and  in  little  towns  of  the  provinces,  good  fortune  is  often  looked 
upon  as  a  crime.  One  man's  success  is  an  insult  for  his  neighbour. 
Jealousy  is  harboured  in  every  heart,  and  foments  many  and  many  a 
bitter  life-long  hatred.  Now,  at  Lannion,  M.  Divorne  was  envied  more 
than  any  one  else.  People  had  known  him  poor,  and  now  he  had  be- 
come rich.  Folks  recollected  the  thread-bare  jacket  he  used  to  wear 
when  he  was  merely  a  petty  clerk  in  his  predecessor's  office,  and  now-a- 
days  he  was  the  owner  of  one  of  the  nicest  houses  in  the  town.  Ah  ! 
he  was  a  successful  man,  and  no  mistake.  "  How  wonderfully  lucky  he 
is  !  "  exclaimed  all  those  whom  exaggerated  prudence  or  notorious  in- 
capacity riveted  to  scanty  means,  "  How  wonderfully  lucky  he  is  !  "  The 
fact  is,  that  a  small  sum  left  him  by  his  mother  had  enabled  him  to  complete 
his  studies,  and  that  his  wife's  dowry  had  paid  for  his  solicitor's  practice. 
It  was  but  a  scanty  practice  in  his  predecessor's  days,  but  it  had  steadily 
grown  and  prospered  ever  since  M.  Divorne  had  taken  it  in  hand. 

Among  those  who  considered  tbat  the  solicitor  deserved  his  present 
misfortune,  one  must  number  several  of  the  fathers  of  Lannion  whom  he 
had  often  wounded  and  humiliated  by  comparing  their  sons  to  his. 
How  he  had  extolled  the  merits  of  young  Pascal  who  came  home  every 
year  loaded  with  prizes,  and  always  passed  his  examinations  with  suc- 
cess !  How  proudly  he  had  paraded  his  parental  satisfaction  !  And 
how  extravagant  had  been  his  hopes  !  So  what  was  now  occurring  was 
but  a  well-deserved  punishment  after  all  ;  and  at  the  same  time  a  con- 
vincing proof  that  the  model  school-boy  is  not  always  what  he  seems  to 
be.  Parents — so  the  Lannion  gossips  opined — ought  really  to  be  upon 
their  guard  against  all  these  young  fellows  endowed  with  wonderful 
aptitudes  and  an  unnaturally  ready  wit,  who,  infatuated  with  their  so- 
called  superiority,  wish  to  do  differently  to  their  fathers,  and  finish  by 
coming  to  a  bad  end.  The  phrase  has  often  been  repeated  :  precocious 
children  never  turn  out  well. 

However,  during  an  entire  fortnight,  everyone  who  had  occasion  to 
speak  to  the  solicitor  thought  fit  to  assume  a  most  mournful  expression 
of  countenance,  even  when  in  their  hearts  they  were  rejoicing  over  his 
misfortune.  So  goes  the  way  of  the  world.  At  the  local  law-court  M. 
Divorne  had  to  acknowledge  pressing  compliments  of  condolence  every 
day,  and  at  the  club  hand-shakes  of  consolation  were  offered  him  with- 
out number.  As  a  natural  consequence,  his  irritation  steadily  increased  ; 
the  more  so,  as  he  was  convinced  that  Pascal  had  committed  little  short 
of  a  crime.  He  invariably  returned  home  at  night-time  more  furious 
than  ever,  and  straightway  picked  a  quarrel  with  his  wife,  whose  blind, 
imprudent,  maternal  weakness  had,  to  his  idea,  caused  all  the  harm. 

And  yet,  after  attentively  studying  the  question,  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  misfortune  was,  perhaps,  not  absolutely  irreparable. 
He  was  seriously  thinking  of  writing  to  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and 
of  going  to  Paris  to  solicit  an  audience,  when  one  fine  evening  Pascal, 
in  person,  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house.  He  had  just  alighted 
from  the  diligence  which  in  those  days  plied  between  Rennes  and  Brest. 


THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR  59 

He  was  certainly  not  expected.  When  Josette,  the  old  servant 
woman,  who  went  to  open  the  door,  grumbling  at  the  impertinence  of 
any  one  to  dare  to  knock  so  loudly  at  such  an  hour,  recognised  her 
young  master,  she  almost  fell  back  and  fainted  away.  For,  as  she  sub- 
sequently related  with  no  little  pride,  she  recognised  him  at  once,  albeit 
that  he  had  greatly  altered,  and  had  grown  and  gathered  flesh  since  his 
last  visit  to  home  some  three  years  previously.  As  soon  as  the  old 
woman  came  to  again,  she  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation  of  mingled 
delight  and  surprise,  and  then,  dropping  her  candlestick  on  to  the  floor, 
she  rushed  up  stairs,  calling  everyone  in  the  same  breath,  just  as  if  the 
house  had  been  on  fire. 

In  the  meanwhile  Pascal  closed  the  door,  and  felt  his  way  along  the 
hall,  the  candle  having  been  extinguished  by  its  fall.  "It's  I  !"  he 
called  with  a  laugh  ;  "  It's  I.     Don't  be  afraid." 

But  the  servant's  piercing  shrieks  had  already  had  their  effect ;  the 
drawing-room  door  was  opened,  and  the  solicitor  could  be  heard  asking, 
in  a  tone  of  mingled  wonder  and  alarm,  "  Good  heavens  !  what  is  the 
matter  ?    What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

So  great  was  Josette's  emotion  that  she  was  still  unable  to  explain 
herself  ;  but  with  maternal  instinct  Madame  Divorne  at  once  recognised 
her  son's  voice,  and  hastened  downstairs  to  meet  him.  The  solicitor 
was  still  repeating,  "What  is  the  matter?  what  is  the  matter?  "  when 
Pascal  was  already  in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  who  wept  tears  of  joy  as 
she  pressed  him  to  her  heart.  He  had  made  her  suffer  sadly  during  the 
last  fortnight,  that  cherished  son  ;  but  his  mere  presence  now  was  a 
complete  justification  of  his  conduct,  a  sufficient  compensation  for  her 
grief.  He  had  only  to  appear,  and,  by  her  at  least,  all  was  forgiven,  or, 
better  still,  forgotten. 

As  for  M.  Divorne,  he  considered  that  professional  and  parental 
dignity  alike  required  that  he  should  retain  an  impassive  attitude. 
Come  what  might,  the  principle  of  authority  must  not  be  lost  sight  of. 
And  thus  with  some  little  trouble,  but  not  without  making  a  grimace 
intended  to  conceal  a  tear,  he  succeeded  in  mastering  his  emotion.  To 
be  brief,  he  retained  what  he  considered  to  be  the  proper  degree  of 
frigidity  and  severity,  and  his  features  preserved  an  expression  of  dis- 
satisfaction, even  when  he  kissed  this  son  of  his,  who  had  once  been  all 
his  joy  and  pride.  However,  this  was  the  very  utmost  that  he  could  do 
in  assertion  of  his  paternal  displeasure.  He  felt  his  anger  melt  under 
the  pressure  of  his  son's  warm  embrace,  like  the  snow  thaws  under  the 
April  breeze  and  sunshine.  He  was  perceptibly  softening,  and  as  he 
did  not  wish  to  make  an  exhibition  of  his  weakness,  he  pretended  that 
he  had  "  important  business  "  to  attend  to,  and  left  the  house,  blowing 
his  nose  rather  more  noisily  than  usual.  Just  as  if  any  one  could  have 
had  "  important  business  "  to  deal  with  in  such  a  town  as  Lannion  at 
nine  o'clock  of  night ! 

However,  the  prodigal  son  had  returned  home  ;  but,  unlike  the  father 
in  Scripture,  M.  Divorne  had  not  ordered  the  fatted  calf  to  be  killed. 
But  then  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  father  of  the  parable  was  not 
a  French  solicitor  ! 

Pascal  remained  alone  with  his  mother.  After  so  long  a  journey,  he 
was  dying  of  hunger,  and  readily  confessed  it ;  and  accordingly  Josette 


60  THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

laid  the  table  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  hurried  to  and  fro,  from  the 
drawing-room  to  the  kitchen  and  vice  versa,  losing  her  head  every  second 
minute,  and  making  ten  journeys  for  one.  Every  now  and  then,  more- 
over, she  paused  to  brush  away  a  tear,  or  to  break  a  plate — evident  and 
equal  signs  of  her  perturbed  state  of  mind.  Madame  Divorne  was 
sitting  in  front  of  her  son,  watching  him  eat  with  the  appetite  of  a  man 
who  for  two  days  has  only  devoured  chance  morsels  in  a  railway  refresh- 
ment room  or  a  passing  village  hostelry.  She  contemplated  him  with 
an  air  of  ecstacy,  and  would  have  liked  to  remain  for  ever  in  her 
admiring  reverie.  But  then  an  explanation  between  Pascal  and  his 
father  was  imminent,  and  it  might  prove  a  stormy  one.  Would  it  not 
be  best  to  warn  her  son,  and  seek  to  impress  him  with  the  necessity  of 
conciliation  ?  Yes,  she  must  try  to  be  the  peace-maker,  even  at  the  risk 
of  failing  in  the  attempt,  and  drawing  upon  herself  the  anger  of  both  her 
husband  and  her  child. 

"Your  father  is  very  vexed,  you  naughty  fellow,"  she  said;  "you 
cause  us — or  rather,  you  cause  him — very  great  anxiety  indeed." 

"But  no,  mother,  I  assure  you,"  stammered  Pascal.  "Don't  be 
afraid.     It  will  be  nothing." 

"Still,  before  acting  as  you  have  done,  you  ought  to  have  warned 
him  ;  you  ought  to  have  asked  his  advice." 

"  But  I  was  certain  that  he  would  not  approve  of  the  course  I  took. 
He  would  have  blamed  me  beforehand,  and  then,  if  I  had  resigned  all 
the  same,  matters  would  have  been  worse  still." 

"At  all  events,  you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  keep  quiet  when 
he  scolds  you.  Don't  get  into  a  passion.  Remember  that  he's  your 
father." 

"  Certainly,  mother,  I  can  promise  you  that,  with  all  my  heart.  But 
you  shall  see  how  right  I  was  in  doing  what  I  have  done." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so,"  murmured  Madame  Divorne  sorrowfully.  Where- 
upon Pascal  leant  forward  and  kissed  her  fondly.  With  her  at  least  his 
cause  was  won.  Henceforth  she  was  ready  to  range  herself  by  her  son's 
side,  satisfied  that  he  could  not  have  acted  wrongly — so  simple  is  it  for 
a  spoilt  son  to  convince  a  loving  mother. 

To  all  appearances,  the  solicitor  did  not  recover  his  courage  whilst  he 
was  out  of  doors.  When  he  returned  home,  after  attending  to  his  "  im- 
portant business,"  his  expression  was  indeed  less  severe  than  before. 
He  did  not  mention  that  terrible  affair  of  the  "  resignation  "  at  all,  but 
talked  in  friendly  fashion  with  his  son,  laughing  and  joking  on  all 
manner  of  indifferent  subjects.  Nor  did  he  even  speak  of  the  resigna- 
tion on  the  morrow,  nor  on  the  following  day,  and  yet  every  one  he  met 
during  his  walks  abroad  pestered  him  with  the  remark,  "  So  your  son 
has  come  home.     Well,  what  does  he  mean  doing  ?  " 

The  news  of  Pascal's  return  had  spread  immediately  through  the 
town.  The  carrier's  waggon  had  been  seen  waiting  in  front  of  the 
solicitor's  house,  and  a  trunk  and  a  hat  box  had  been  removed  from  it 
and  carried  indoors.  A  procession  of  visitors  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course  ;  but  Madame  Divorne  thought  6t  to  send  word  that  she  was 
"not  at  home" — whereby  she  made  any  number  of  enemies,  who  have 
never  forgiven  her  to  this  very  day.  A  few  mornings  afterwards  Pascal 
thought  he  might  venture  out  of  doors,  but  before  he  had  gone  a  hundred 


THE  MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  61 

yards  along  the  street,  he  had  already  been  accosted  by  five  persons, 
with  two  of  whom  he  was  but  slightly  acquainted,  whilst  a  third  was 
utterly  unknown  to  him.  But  all  five  eagerly  offered  to  shake  hands, 
and  hypocritically  asked  him  for  news  of  the  "  Ecole  des  Ponts  et 
Chaussees."  This  experience  sufficed.  Pascal  hurried  indoors  again, 
cursing  his  fellow  townsmen,  and  swearing  that  he  would  not  set  his 
foot  in  the  street  again. 

However,  time  passed  by,  and  M.  Divorne  seemed  to  have  completely 
forgotten  the  annoyance  his  son  had  caused  him.  A  prey  to  anxious 
uncertainty  Pascal  longed  to  provoke  an  explanation,  but  his  mother 
always  prevented  him  from  doing  so.  "  Wait,"  said  she,  "  I  know  your 
father.  He  is  always  very  long  in  taking  a  decision.  He  has  been 
reflecting  ever  since  you  arrived,  and  when  he  has  made  up  his  mind 
you  may  be  quite  sure  that  he  will  speak  to  you." 

She  was  right ;  for,  in  due  course,  one  morning  as  soon  as  the  break- 
fast things  had  been  cleared  away,  M.  Divorne  gravely  requested  his  son 
to  lend  him  his  attention. 

"  Ah,"  thought  Pascal,  "  so  the  moment  has  come  at  last." 

The  solicitor  was  usually  a  prolix  speaker,  as  the  functionaries  and 
habituis  of  the  local  law-court  were  well  aware  ;  but  never,  perhaps,  did 
he  turn  the  precious  gift  of  speech  to  such  abuse  as  on  this  solemn 
occasion.  He  began  his  address  with  a  kind  of  invocation  of  paternal 
love.  Who,  he  asked,  had  ever  understood  the  duties  of  a  parent  more 
fully  than  himself  ?  He  appealed  to  his  son  on  that  point.  Had  he  not 
always  given  ample  proofs  of  his  affection  ?  But  then,  what  had  been 
his  reward  ?  This  exordium  was  followed  by  the  enumeration  of  all  the 
worry  and  anxiety  which  children  cause.  He  forgot  nothing  :  neither 
the  uneasiness  he  had  experienced  when  Pascal  was  cutting  his  teeth, 
nor  a  special  journey  he  had  made  in  a  post-chaise  to  Paris,  at  a  time 
when  his  son  was  seriously  ill.  This  was  the  first  point.  Next  came 
the  question  of  pecuniary  sacrifices  which  occupied  more  time.  The 
solicitor  made  a  minute  calculation  of  every  penny  he  had  spent  to  bring 
up  Pascal  in  comfort  and  to  provide  him  with  an  education,  which  he 
himself  had  never  received  from  his  father.  Finally,  and  in  logical 
sequence,  he  dealt  with  the  recompense  he  had  received  for  his  care, 
affection,  and  liberality.  He  recorded  each  satisfaction  that  he  owed  to 
his  son  ;  praised  him  for  his  application  to  his  studies,  his  general  good 
conduct  during  his  boyhood  and  youth,  and  his  frequent  marks  of  dutiful 
affection  for  his  parents.  In  one  word,  this  address  resembled  the 
perusal  of  a  paternal  "  debit  "  and  "  credit "  account,  with  the  care, 
worry,  and  losses  on  one  side,  and  the  joy,  satisfaction,  and  profits  on 
the  other.  Until  very  recently,  so  M.  Divorne  recorded,  the  balance 
had  no  doubt  been  in  favour  of  his  son,  and  he,  the  father,  had  with 
pleasure  acknowledged  himself  to  be  the  debtor.  "  And  now,"  said  he, 
reaching  his  peroration,  "  I  hope,  Pascal,  that  you  do  not  wish  to  change 
this  state  of  things.  You  must  have  reflected  since  you  have  been  here, 
and  you  must  have  learnt  to  regret  your  mistake  in  sacrificing  your 
career.  Eecall  your  decision,  apply  to  the  minister,  he  will  not  refuse 
to  re-admit  you  into  the  state  service,  and  I,  on  my  part,  am  ready  to  for- 
give and  forget  the  very  great  grief  you  caused  me." 

The  effect  of  M.  Divorne's  address  was  not  such  as  he  had  expected. 


62  THE  MATRIMONIAL  AMBASSADOR. 

Pascal  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments  as  if  he  were  mustering  up  his 
energy  ;  or  perhaps  he  hesitated  as  to  the  answer  he  should  give.  But 
at  last  in  a  firm  voice  he  exclaimed,  "  What  you  wish  me  to  do,  father, 
is  quite  impossible.  My  application  to  the  minister  would  certainly  be 
refused,  and  besides,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  make  it." 

"  Be  it  so,"  rejoined  the  solicitor  with  an  undisguised  air  of  vexation. 
"  Folks  say  that  it  is  so  easy  to  make  a  position  now-a-days,  and  no 
doubt  you  have  found  something  better. " 

' '  Not  better,  perhaps,  but  at  all  events  more  suited  to  my  tastes. 
Believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  reflected  before  acting  as  I  did.  As 
for  my  intentions,  my  object  in  coming  to  Lannion  was  to  acquaint  you 
with  them  ;  and  this  was  all  the  more  necessary  as  I  shall  need  your 
help." 

' '  That  is  really  very  fortunate.  I  understand  now  why  you  thought 
of  me.     And  how  can  I  help  you,  pray  ?  " 

"  Before  undertaking  anything  I  must  procure  funds,  and  I  thought — " 

"Ah  !  ah  !  "  interrupted  the  solicitor  in  a  mocking  manner.  "  You 
require  funds,  eh  ?  But  it  seems  to  me  that  before  sacrificing  a  stable 
position  you  ought  to  have  asked  me  for  my  views.  If  I  refused — and 
certainly  I  shall  refuse — " 

"  But,  father,"  rejoined  Pascal,  rather  impatiently,  "  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, one  of  my  aunts,  who  died  ten  years  ago,  left  me  in  her  will  some 
forty  thousand  francs." 

If  an  old  pleader,  on  the  eve  of  gaining  his  suit  after  years  and  years 
of  pettifoggery,  had  come  to  the  solicitor  and  said  to  him,  "I  have 
decided  not  to  carry  the  matter  any  further,"  he  would  have  experienced 
even  less  surprise  than  he  did  on  hearing  his  son  speak  in  the  above 
fashion.  ' '  So  you  require  an  account  of  my  stewardship  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
with  intense  bitterness.     "Ah,  this  is  a  cruel  surprise  !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  Pascal  sought  to  attenuate  his  words.  The  blow 
was  dealt.  He  tried  to  explain  his  future  plans,  endeavoured  to  justify 
himself,  and  to  state  how  he  meant  to  employ  the  money  he  asked  for ; 
but  it  was  all  no  good  ;  M.  Divorne  refused  to  listen  to  him.  ' '  What 
does  it  matter  to  me,"  he  repeated,  "I  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about  it." 

He  had  quite  forgotten  the  previous  discussion  ;  Pascal's  resignation 
was  buried  in  oblivion.  What  the  solicitor  asked  himself  now  was  how 
could  he  hope  to  save  this  money,  which,  as  he  was  well  aware,  his  son 
had,  after  all,  a  perfect  right  to  claim.  At  any  rate  he  must  try  to  part 
with  as  little  of  it  as  possible  ;  for  a  young  man  would  certainly  turn 
such  a  large  sum  to  no  good  advantage.  "Come,  Pascal,"  he  said  at 
last,  "lean  understand  that  you  may  be  in  want  of  money;  but  still 
you  might  have  asked  for  it  in  a  different  fashion.  Am  I  a  stingy  father  ? 
Have  I  ever  refused  you  anything  1  I  admit  that  you  haven't  abused 
my  liberality.  But  after  all  you  have  been  studying  very  hard  for  five 
years  now,  and  perhaps  you  want  a  little  relaxation  ;  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  make  a  tour — " 

"  No,  no,  father.     If  you  would  only  let  me  speak  I  would — " 

"  One  moment ;  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  No  doubt  you  are  in 
debt.     All  young  men  are. " 

•'  Oh  I  I  don't  owe  a  sou." 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  63 

"  But  listen  to  me,  please.  I  don't  ask  yon  for  explanations.  Now 
be  frank  ;  you  require  five  thousand  francs,  eh  ?  " 

"My  dear  father— " 

"You  need  more?  Well,  be  it  so,  you  shall  have  ten  thousand." 
And  rising  from  his  seat  the  solicitor  walked  towards  the  door,  thus 
indicating  that  he  considered  the  interview  at  an  end. 

Pascal  realised  that  he  must  strike  a  decisive  blow.  "  Father,"  said 
he,  "I  need  all  or  nothing." 

"  Ihen  let  it  be  nothing, "  answered  M.  Divorne  in  a  threatening  voice. 
"  Yes,  nothing.  Do  you  think  that  I'll  allow  a  young  madman  like  you 
to  squander  his  little  fortune  ?  " 

"And  yet  I  greatly  need  this  money.  It  is  indispensable  for  my 
purpose." 

"Ah!  it's  indispensable,  is  it?  Well,  your  aunt  left  you  a  farm,  a 
farm  which  is  in  good  condition,  and  let  out  on  an  advantageous  lease. 
Suppose  I  hand  you  over  the  title  deeds  of  the  property,  what  will  yon 
do  with  it  ?  " 

"I  shall  sell  it." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  would  procure  you  money  within  twenty- 
four  hours  ?  Why,  you  must  wait  for  an  opportunity,  find  a  purchaser, 
have  bills  printed  and  posted." 

"  Oh,  I'll  find  a  purchaser  and  post  the  bills." 

"  You  surely  can't  be  in  earnest.  Why,  what  would  the  people  of 
Lannion  think  if  they  saw  you  sell  as  much  as  a  franc's  worth  of  land  ? 
Do  you  know  what  they  would  say  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  care?  "  answered  Pascal  vivaciously  ;  "  I'll  go  and  order 
the  bills  this  very  minute." 

M.  Divorne  knew  his  son  well  enough  to  realise  that  his  determina- 
tion was  inflexible.  "  Stay,"  said  he,  "  let  me  spare  you  that  shame. 
I'll  find  the  money  even  at  the  cost  of  a  sacrifice. " 

Already  regretting  his  angry  impulse,  Pascal  tried  to  take  his  father's 
hand,  but  the  old  man  waved  him  back.  "No  pretences,  pray,"  said 
he;  and  he  added  in  a  tone  of  irony,  "I  suppose  you'll  grant  me  a 
week's  grace  ?  "  With  these  words  he  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him. 

Madame  Divorne  had  not  spoken  a  word  through  the  whole  discus- 
sion. She  was  sobbing  on  her  chair,  and  Pascal,  who  had  been  moved 
to  resistance  by  his  father's  anger,  felt  weak  at  sight  of  his  mother's 
tears.  Kneeling  beside  her,  and  taking  hold  of  both  her  hands, 
"  Mother,  dear  mother,"  said  he,  "  speak  but  one  word,  and  I'll  renounce 
Jny  plans  and  try  to  withdraw  my  resignation." 

A  gleam  of  joy  and  triumph  sparkled  through  Madame  Divorne's 
tears.  How  her  son  loved  her  !  How  ready  he  was  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing for  her  sake — he,  who  had  shown  himself  so  firm  but  a  moment 
previously.  "No,  Pascal,  no.  Follow  your  inspirations,  I  have  faith 
in  you,"  she  said. 

"  But  mother,  dear,  I  must  at  least  tell  you — " 

"  Tell  me  nothing — I  dont  wish  to  know — should  I  even  understand 
what  you  said  ?  Be  content  with  what  I  have  told  you.  I  have  faith  in 
you."  And  as  he  obstinately  tried  to  speak,  despite  her  refusal  to  listen, 
she  silenced  him  by  placing  both  hands  before  his  mouth. 


64  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

The  house  wore  a  mournful  aspect  during  the  days  that  followed. 
The  solicitor  was  as  gloomy  as  possible,  and  scarcely  uttered  a  word. 

His  wife  and  son  only  saw  him  at  meals,  for  during  the  rest  of  the 
time  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  private  room.  On  her  side,  Madame 
Divorne  hid  herself  to  weep  at  leisure,  and  Pascal  seemed  to  suffer  more 
than  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life  before.  He  longed  to  leave  Lannion, 
for  the  sight  of  his  father's  vexation  and  his  mother's  grief  tortured  him 
beyond  endurance.  H  he  had  only  been  able  to  speak  of  his  future  plans 
■ — but  no ;  all  attempts  to  induce  his  father  to  listen  to  him  proved 
ineffectual,  and  his  mother  invariably  exclaimed,  "  I  have  faith  in  you," 
without  allowing  him  to  say  a  word. 

At  length,  at  the  end  of  the  week,  M.  Divorne  requested  his  son  to 
step  into  his  private  room.  "Here,"  said  he,  producing  a  bundle  of 
documents  ;  "  here  are  the  accounts  of  my  stewardship.  You  will 
now  be  able  to  see  if  I  have  managed  your  property  like  a  good  father. 
Read  please,  and  then  give  me  a  receipt."  Pascal  at  once  took  a  pen 
from  off  the  table.  "  No,  no,"  resumed  the  solicitor,  "  please  begin  by 
reading  those  documents."  And  as  the  young  fellow  refused  to  do  so, 
his  father  unfolded  the  papers  himself  and  proceeded  to  read  them  aloud, 
insisting  every  now  and  then  on  certain  particulars,  or  pausing  to  ask, 
"Are  you  satisfied  with  my  management ?" 

The  documents  were  of  great  length,  and  their  perusal  lasted  almost 
three  hours ;  so  that  by  the  time  his  father  finished,  Pascal  was  fairly 
dying  of  impatience.  "Now,"  said  the  solicitor,  "here  is  your  money. 
The  sum  that  is  due  to  you,  as  you  will  have  seen,  amounts  exactly  to 
forty-three  thousand,  seven  hundred  and  fifty-six  francs,  and  sixty 
centimes.     Please  count  that  money,  and  see  if  the  sum  is  there." 

Pascal  was  already  slipping  the  bank-notes  into  his  pocket  when  his 
father  stopped  him.  "No,  no,"  said  he,  "I  tell  you  to  count  the 
money.     1  particularly  wish  it." 

It  was  necessary  to  obey.  "Well  now  we  are  quits,"  exclaimed 
M.  Divorne,  "  when  do  you  propose  leaving  ?  " 

"Why,  as  soon  as  possible — to-morrow,  if  I  can  secure  a  place  in 
the  diligence.     I  am  expected  in  Paris." 

"  And  you  would  do  wrong  to  keep  your  friends  waiting." 

"  But  father,  I  do  not  want  to  part  from  you  like  this.  You  are 
unjust  and  I — " 

"No  pretences,  please,"  sternly  retorted  the  solicitor,  "  leave  me.  I 
have  work  to  attend  to." 

At  nine  o'clock  on  the  following  morning  the  ostler  of  the  H6tel  de  la 
Poste  came  to  warn  Pascal  that  the  horses  had  already  been  put  to  the 
diligence,  and  that  he  had  only  had  just  time  to  take  his  seat  before  the 
vehicle  started.  The  parting  was  a  bitter  one.  Madame  Divorne 
sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  pressed  her  son  to  her  bosom 
as  fervently  as  if  she  feared  she  might  never  see  him  alive  again.  Pascal 
was  scarcely  less  moved  than  his  mother,  and  could  barely  restrain  his 
tears.  He  found  it  impossible  to  utter  a  word.  M.  Divorne,  however, 
seemed  bent  on  displaying  his  vaunted  "iron  will"  and  "force  of 
character."  He  not  merely  refused  to  embrace  his  son,  but  even  to 
shake  hands   with  him ;    and   he  affected  an  air  z>f  mock   raillery : 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  65 

"  Remember  that  you  have  all  your  fortune  with  you,"  he  «aid  to  Pascal. 
"  When  it's  squandered,  which  I  presume  won't  take  you  very  long, 
you  will  no  doubt  do  me  the  honour  of  remembering  me.  At  all  events, 
I  shall  have  your  room  kept  ready." 

With  these  words  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  Pascal  walked  alone  to  the 
diligence  office,  and  the  good  folks  of  Lannion  considerately  concluded 
that  his  father  had  turned  him  out  of  doors. 


m. 

It  was  five  o'clock  on  a  cold  raw  February  morning  when  the  train 
which  brought  Pascal  back  from  his  expedition  to  Lannion  steamed 
into  the  G-are  Montparnasse  at  Paris.  This  journey  had  been  a  sad  one, 
for  in  reality  he  loved  his  parents,  and  remorse  weighed  heavily  on  his 
mind  at  thought  of  the  grief  he  had  caused  them.  Never  had  the  road 
appeared  so  long  before,  the  engine  seemed  to  crawl  onward  at  a  snail's 
pace,  and  a  few  brief  snatches  of  sleep  were  powerless  to  calm  his  im- 
patience to  reach  the  capital,  where  he  trusted  that  work  would  speedily 
turn  his  mind  to  more  cheerful  thoughts.  It  must  be  added,  moreover, 
that  Pascal  was  not  accustomed  to  carry  such  a  sum  as  40,000  francs  in 
his  pocket-book  ;  and  the  thought  that  he  might  lose  it,  or  have  it  stolen 
from  him,  caused  him  no  little  uneasiness,  inducing  him,  indeed,  to  keep 
his  hand  on  the  precious  roll  of  notes  throughout  the  journey,  so  that 
by  the  time  it  was  over  his  arm  was  fairly  numbed.  Worn  out  with 
fatigue,  he  entered  the  waiting-room  where  passengers  have  to  remain 
whilst  their  luggage  is  being  removed  from  the  train,  prior  to  undergoing 
the  inspection  of  the  octroi  officials  ;  and  he  was  just  intent  on  stretch- 
ing his  stiff  legs,  when  he  heard  a  joyful  voice  calling  him  by  name, 
"  Eh,  Mousieur  Divorne  !  eh,  monsieur,  the  engineer  !  " 

Turning  round  in  the  direction  of  the  iron  railing  which  separates 
the  passengers  from  the  friends  who  have  come  to  meet  them,  our  hero  per- 
ceived a  stout  man  with  a  beaming  face,  who  was  making  any  number  of 
friendly  signs  to  attract  his  attention.  "Ah,  so  here  you  are!"  ex- 
claimed this  individual  as  Pascal  reached  his  side ;  "  I  received  your  let- 
ter, and  I  was  expecting  you.     Have  you  made  a  good  journey  ?  " 

"  Ah,  it  might  have  been  better,"  replied  the  young  engineer.  "  I  don't 
think  I  should  have  had  courage  enough  to  do  what  I've  done,  if  I  hadn't 
given  you  my  word,  Father  Lantier.     However,  I  have  the  money." 

"Hush,  in  heaven's  name,  don't  speak  so  loud  !  Suppose  you  were 
overheard  ?  People  don't  talk  about  money  like  that ;  you  don't  know 
perhaps  that  Paris  swarms  with  thieves  and  pickpockets.  I  have  taken 
■mine  to  the  bank  ;  it  prevented  me  from  sleeping  as  long  as  I  had  it  at 
home.  However,  as  you  have  returned  we  must  now  set  about  turning 
this  money  to  account." 

"  Yes,1'  answered  Pascal  with  a  sigh  ;  "but  we  must  be  careful  not  to 
lose  the  game  ! " 

"  Lose  the  game,  with  all  the  trumps  in  our  hands  ?     You  must  be  jok- 
ing surely.     But  let  us  attend  to  present  things  ;  you  must  come  home 
l^itb  me." 
'   ;?  gut,  my  4ear  Lantier,  J  shall  be  e^uging  you  110,  end  of  trpubje," 


66  THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOB. 

"Causing  me  trouble  ?  A  man  like  you  ?  Really,  Monsieur  Divorne, 
I  should  consider  it  an  affront  if  you  went  to  a  hotel.  You  must  come 
home  and  have  a  good  sleep  till  breakfast  time  ;  after  that  we  will  talk 
business.  I've  found  out  a  capital  affair  to  begin  with  ;  but,  dash  it  a,\l, 
here  am  I  jabbering,  and  you  are  tired  to  death.  However,  wait  a 
moment  while  I  run  for  a  cab. " 

If  Lantier  did  not  fire  an  artillery  salute  in  honour  of  "  Monsieur,  the 
engineer,"  it  was  simply  because  he  had  no  battery  at  his  disposal.  At 
all  events  his  house  had  been  turned  topsy  turvy,  and  a  comfortable 
warm  room,  a  bottle  of  old  wine,  and  a  bowl  of  delicious  bouillon  were 
in  readiness  when  Pascal  arrived.  "  Well,  I'll  leave  you  now,"  said 
Lantier  as  soon  as  Pascal  had  refreshed  himself  and  turned  to  undress. 
"If  you  require  anything  you  have  only  to  ring  for  me." 

"Oh,  thanks;  all  I  require  is  a  little  rest.  Good  night,  my  dear 
partner." 

Lantier  softly  closed  the  door  and  walked  to  his  own  room  on 
tiptoe.  "Ay,  it's  true,  it's  true,"  he  muttered ;  "  we  are  partners, 
and  yet  heaven  knows  that  I  never  expected  to  become  the  partner  of 
such  a  man  as  he  is — the  cleverest  fellow  of  the  Ponts  et  Chaussees 
service  ! " 

Jean  Lantier,  Pascal's  partner,  is  now-a-days  a  contractor  in  easy 
circumstances.  He  will  never  be  very  wealthy,  because  he  is  not  ambitious. 
Indeed  he  intends  to  retire  from  business  as  soon  as  he  can  give  his  three 
daughters  a  dowry  of  150,000  francs  a  piece,  and  reserve  for  himself  a 
snug  little  income  of  20,000  francs  per  annum.  A  score  or  so  of  years  ago 
Jean  Lantier  wheeled  a  barrow  over  the  high  ways ;  he  was  a  simple 
navvy  in  the  service  of  the  State.  He  enjoyed  good  spirits  and  good 
health.  He  was  tolerably  good  looking,  his  conduct  was  exemplary,  and 
he  earned  no  less  than  seventy  francs  a  month  minus  the  percentage  levied 
for  the  pension  fund,  in  the  advantages  of  which  he  hoped  one  day  to 
have  a  share.  Under  such  circumstances  he  was  fairly  eligible  for  matri- 
mony and  so  he  married,  receiving  with  his  wife  a  very  welcome  dowry 
of  six  thousand  francs  in  hard  cash.  Madame  Lantier  was  pretty  and 
good-tempered,  and  made  a  capital  housewife,  so  that  at  first  her  husband 
found  himself  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  But  by-and  bye,  three 
little  strangers  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and,  as  Jean  Lantier's  salary  re- 
mained the  same,  he  found  it  a  hard  task  indeed  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
In  the  first  year  of  his  married  life  he  had  been  able  to  lay  a  little  money 
by,  and  now  he  had  to  draw  on  his  savings.  "  It  can't  go  on  like  this,"  he 
grumbled  over  and  over  again  ;  and  at  last  one  fine  day,  despite  his 
file's  exhortations  to  be  patient,  he  took  a  bold  resolution — handing  up 
his  barrow  and  his  shovel,  and  formally  resigning  his  position  as  a  "func- 
tionary of  the  State.' 

A  portion  of  his  wife's  dowry  had  gone  in  "  first  expenses,"  at  the 
time  of  their  marriage  ;  but,  thanks  to  what  they  had  subsequently 
saved,  the  little  capital  of  six  thousand  francs  remained  almost  intact. 
Tims  provided,  Lantier  offered  a  tender  for  a  small  contract  in  connection 
with  o  railway  embankment,  and  considered  himself  very  lucky,  indeed, 
wheii  he  obtained  it.  But  an  apprenticeship  is  necessary  in  all  things, 
as  he  soon  learnt,  at  his  own  expense  ;  for  this  first  contract  cost  him  half 
his  capital.    However,  he  was  not  cast  down.     Realising  that  his  want 


THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  67 

of  knowledge  placed  him  at  a  disadvantage,  he  took  lessons  of  an  evening, 
and  speedily  became  quite  another  man.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  did  not 
neglect  his  work.  Two  or  three  contracts  he  engaged  in,  resulted  neither 
in  loss  nor  profit ;  but,  at  last,  he  regained  the  sum  that  had  been 
swallowed  up  in  his  first  venture,  risked  it  over  again,  and  steadily 
increased  it  until,  finally,  it  was  doubled.  Thus  it  happened  that,  at 
forty  years  of  age,  Lantier  had  amassed  well  nigh  a  couple  of  thousand 
pounds  of  his  own,  and  did  not  owe  a  halfpenny  to  any  one.  And,  in 
the  meanwhile,  he  had  lived  comfortably,  and  his  wife  and  children  had 
never  known  privation. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Pascal,  who 
had  been  appointed  to  superintend  certain  works  which  Lantier  had 
contracted  for.  The  young  engineer  felt  friendly  towards  the  contractor, 
whom  he  found  to  be  a  hard-working,  intelligent  man,  with  the  one 
great  quality  that  he  could  be  depended  on.  In  fact,  every  one  who 
knew  Jean  Lantier  esteemed  him  ;  and  it  was  only  certain  jealous  rivals 
who  called  him  a  "  spoil -trade  " — simply  because,  when  once  a  contract 
was  signed,  he  scrupulously  carried  it  out,  even  on  finding  that  he  must 
lose  by  it.  It  so  happened  that  Pascal  had  occasion  to  render  the 
contractor  a  rather  important  service,  and,  contrary  to  the  general  rule, 
Lantier  showed  his  gratitude.  He  had  always  felt  great  veneration  for 
the  Ponts  et  Chauss6es  service,  and  he  now  transferred  the  whole  of  it 
to  the  young  engineer.  Soon,  indeed,  his  admiration  for  Pascal's 
talents  knew  no  bounds  ;  he  sounded  his  praises  in  all  directions,  and 
one  may  add  that  he  really  thought  what  he  said.  When  the  contract 
which  brought  them  together  had  been  carried  out,  Lantier  did  not  lose 
sight  of  Pascal,  but  frequently  visited  him  ;  at  times,  to  ask  advice  on 
some  matter  or  another,  and  at  others,  simply  for  the  pleasure  oi 
Conversing  with  him.  Indeed,  the  contractor's  friendship  for  the  young 
engineer  ripened  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  would  positively  have  thrown 
himself  into  the  fire  for  him,  if,  contrary  to  probability,  there  had  been 
the  smallest  occasion  for  such  an  act.  However,  Pascal's  last  year  of 
study  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  he  was  already  seriously  thinking  of 
abandoning  the  career  of  a  Government  engineer.  If  he  still  hesitated, 
it  was  because  he  was  too  anxious  to  find  some  other  employment  for  his 
activity  and  aptitudes.  He  was  impatiently  awaiting  an  answer  to  an 
application  he  had  made  to  one  of  the  great  railway  companies,  and  none 
came.  What  should  he  do  ?  He  was  asking  himself  this  question,  and 
revolving  every  possible  alternative  in  his  mind,  when,  one  morning, 
he  received  a  visit  from  Jean  Lantier,  who  was  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement. 

At  that  moment,  the  great  and  famous  scheme  of  demolishing  the  old 
quarters  of  Paris,  of  pulling  down  the  ancient  insalubrious  tenements, 
doing  away  with  the  narrow  tortuous  streets,  which  proved  such  a  great 
impediment  to  traffic,  and  replacing  them  by  broad  and  airy  thoroughfares, 
lined  with  well-built  houses,  satisfying  all  possible  sanitary  requirements, 
was  being  actively  carried  into  effect,  under  the  auspices  of  Baron 
Haussmann.  Entire  parishes  were  receiving  notice  to  quit.  Houses  fell 
by  the  hundred,  and,  in  place  of  the  ill  and  close-built  streets,  the  dingy 
courts  and  alleys  of  olden  times — where  the  sun  had  never  managed  to 
penetrate— the  grand  arteries  of  modern  Paris  were  springing  into  being, 


68  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

as  if  by  enchantment.  Now,  Jean  Lantier'a  dream  was  to  become  a 
"  demolisher."  The  profession  of  "  demolisher  "  is  of  modern  date,  but 
it  numbers  many  and  many  a  millionaire  in  its  ranks.  Still,  before 
altogether  risking  his  hard-earned  money  in  this  direction,  the  contractor 
was  anxious  to  consult  his  friend.  He  had  his  mind  full  of  the  idea,  and 
spoke  at  great  length,  giving  Pascal  any  number  of  particulars.  He  had 
already  ventured  some  small  sums,  in  little  speculations^  the  kind — having 
had  an  eighth  or  a  twelfth  share  in  certain  lots  ;  and  he  considered  that 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  go  into  the  demolishing  business  altogether. 
In  fact,  now  he  thought  of  it,  he  had  hitherto  been  altogether  too  prudent 
and  timid,  for,  warming  up  as  he  proceeded,  he  declared  that,  with  a 
little  luck,  a  man  might  positively  double  his  capital  in  less  than  a  year's 
time.  "  For,  you  see,  Monsieur  the  engineer,"  he  added,  "this  is  how 
things  are  managed.  The  city  of  Paris  wishes  to  demolish  a  certain 
district,  and  rebuild  it.  Very  well,  then.  It  needs  people  to  pull  down 
the  old  houses,  and  clear  the  ground.  So  what  does  it  do  ?  Why,  it 
divides  its  district  into  lots  of  two,  four,  or  ten  old  tenements,  and 
invites  public  competition.  It  says  to  the  contractors,  '  Now,  what 
will  you  give  for  those  old  buildings  ?  You  must  clear  them  away,  mind, 
and  leave  the  ground  in  proper  condition,  for  new  houses  to  be  erected 
on  the  site.'  Well,  the  contractors  send  in  their  tenders,  and  the  one 
who  makes  the  best  offer  secures  the  lot.  As  a  matter  of  course,  they 
don't  cut  each  others'  throats — they  don't  let  the  prices  fall  too  low  ; 
and,  providing  a  man  gets  one  tender  accepted  out  of  every  five  or  six 
he  offers,  the  business  becomes  a  very  profitable  one,  indeed." 

"  But  it  must  require  a  large  amount  of  capital,"  objected  Pascal,  who 
was  beginning  to  feel  interested  in  Lantier's  talk. 

"Oh,  not  so  much  as  you  fancy!  The  city  of  Paris  gives  credit — 
contenting  itself,  for  the  time  being,  with  a  guarantee,  which  varies 
according  to  the  value  of  the  lot.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  ready  money 
soon  comes  in.  We  pull  down  the  old  houses,  it's  true,  but  they  serve 
all  over  again,  from  garret  to  cellar.  Other  houses  are  being  built  by 
the  hundred,  and  if  the  old  materials  don't  suit  for  the  very  grand  ones, 
they  are  just  the  thing  for  the  cheaper  dwellings.  The  builders  and  the 
architects  come  to  you,  and  you  can  sell  them  the  stone  work,  and  the 
wood  work,  and  the  iron  work.  One  man  will  buy  your  slates  ;  another 
one  will  take  your  staircases  ;  another,  your  chimney  pieces  ;  another, 
your  glass  ;  another,  your  doors  and  window-frames.  The  wood  that 
is  too  old,  too  dry,  or  too  rotten,  can  be  cut  up  and  sold  as  firing  ;  the 
roof  lathes  make  capital  faggots  ;  the  bricks  can  be  cleaned,  and  turned 
out  as  good  as  new,  by  a  process  just  invented  ;  and  even  the  old  plaster 
can  be  turned  to  account." 

"  Eh  !  but,  Lantier,  tell  me.  When  the  city  of  Paris  is  paid,  does  a 
large  profit  remain  ?     Can  money  really  be  made  at  the  business  1 " 

' '  Money  !  Why,  bless  my  soul,  you  can  make  bushels  full  and 
bushels  full  !  Now,  you  know  big  Joigny,  don't  you — the  chap  who 
used  to  work  with  me  ?  Well,  sir,  at  the  present  moment  he  rides  about 
in  his  own  carriage — his  own  carriage,  I  tell  you,  paid  for  in  hard  cash. 
And  yet,  he  used  to  be  but  an  idle  fool,  and  merely  began  with  a  few 
sous  he  had  borrowed.  Ah  !  if  I  only  had  100,000  francs  in  lieu  of 
40,000,  and  a  man  like  you  to  work  with  me,  why  — ," 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  bij 

Lantier  paused,  for  Pascal  had  a  thoughtful  look,  and  did  not  seem 
to  hear  him. 

"  Ah  !  "  muttered  the  young  fellow,  answering  his  own  thoughts  rather 
than  the  contractor's  words.     "  Ah  !  it's  very  tempting." 

' '  What  ?  What  ?  "  cried  Lantier.  ' '  Should  you  really  like  to  make 
the  venture  ?  That  can't  be.  It  would  be  altogether  too  lucky  for  me. 
But,  if  you  are  really  in  earnest,  why,  then,  I  can  look  on  my  fortune 
as  already  made  !  I  can't  deal  with  big  things  myself.  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  they  frighten  me,  and  so  I  miss  the  best  opportunities. 
And,  to  do  the  thing  properly,  a  man  must  make  himself  a  connection, 
see  all  the  big  guns,  and  get  into  their  favour  ;  but,  dash  it  all,  I  can't 
do  that.  I'm  always  afraid  of  looking  ridiculous,  or  of  talking  bad 
grammar.  But  if  I  only -had  you  with  me,  I  shouldn't  care  a  straw. 
Why,  I'd  go  and  see  the  Prefect  himself,  and  say  to  him,  '  Now,  look 
here,  you  want  to  pull  down  Paris,  don't  you  ?  Very  well,  then.  I'll 
undertake  to  do  that,  and  this  gentleman  here,  my  friend  the  engineer, 
will  undertake  to  build  it  up  again,  and  he'll  do  it  a  thousand  times 
better  than  all  your  architects.'  " 

Lantier's  enthusiasm  made  Pascal  smile.  "  You  are  laughing,  eh?" 
continued  the  contractor.  "  Never  mind  :  I'd  do  as  I  say.  Pulling  the 
old  houses  down  isn't  everything.  New  ones  must  be  built,  and  that's 
your  affair.  And  a  capital  business  it  is,  too  !  With  the  materials  of 
three  old  houses  one  can  build  a  spanking  new  one.  But,  dash  it  all, 
here  am  I  rattling  away,  and  perhaps  after  all  the  matter  doesn't  interest 
you?" 

"  Listen,  Lantier,"  replied  Pascal.  "  I  must  consider  what  you  have 
just  been  telling  me.  It's  quite  possible  that  I  might  go  into  partnership 
with  you  as  you  suggest,  and  if  I  decided  to  do  so,  I  could  make  up  the 
hundred  thousand  francs  that  are  requisite.  However,  to  begin  with  I 
must  think  the  matter  over.  Call  again  in  three  days'  time,  and  then 
I'll  give  you  a  positive  reply." 

Lantier  punctually  kept  the  appointment,  and  his  heart  beat  with 
conflicting  sentiments  of  hope  and  fear  when  he  presented  himself  at  the 
young  engineer's  abode.  "  Well,"  said  Pascal  as  soon  as  he  saw  him, 
' '  I've  thought  it  over.  We'll  go  into  partnership.  You  may  consider 
the  matter  settled." 

The  contractor  went  wild  with  delight.  "  Then  Paris  belongs  to  us  ! " 
he  cried  ;  and  in  his  excitement  he  positively  embraced  Pascal.  ' '  Pray, 
excuse  me,"  he  said  a  moment  afterwards.  "It  was  a  very  great  liberty 
to  take,  but,  dash  it  all,  you  don't  know  how  I  feel." 

It  was  then  agreed  that  Pascal  should  start  for  Lannion  with  the  view 
of  obtaining  the  money  which  was  required  ;  while  the  contractor  on  his 
side  gathered  together  his  own  funds,  and  looked  out  for  some  good 
affair,  for  it  was  essential  that  they  should  set  to  work  as  speedily  as 
possible. 

On  the  morning  that  Pascal  returned  from  Brittany  he  realised  that 
his  partner  was  well  acquainted  with  the  English  axiom  that  "  time  is 
money,"  for  scarcely  was  breakfast  over  than  Lantier  produced  a  large 
sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  jotted  down  innumerable  figures  and 
memoranda,  and  using  it  as  a  reference  he  proceeded  to  point  out  the 
necessity  of  offering  a  tender  for  several  houses  in   the   Rue   de  La 


70  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

Harpe,  then  being  pulled  down  to  admit  of  the  tracing  of  the  Boulevard 
St.  Michel.  As  soon  as  Lantier's  explanations  were  given,  they  agreed 
to  go  and  look  at  the  houses  together,  which  they  did  on  the  following 
morning.  It  was  late  in  the  day  when  they  had  finished  measuring  and 
calculating,  and  estimating  the  value  of  the  various  materials ;  and  then 
they  had  to  consider  how  much  they  should  offer  for  the  lot.  After  a 
little  discussion,  they  fixed  a  sum,  and  that  same  evening  Pascal  drew 
np  the  first  tender  of  the  firm  of  Divorne  &  Lantier,  public  contractors. 
There  was  every  prospect  of  this  tender  being  accepted,  for  their  offer 
was  a  high  one.  As  it  was  their  first  venture,  they  had  decided  that  it 
would  be  best  to  content  themselves  with  a  small  profit ;  and  so,  making 
allowance  for  the  chance  losses  they  might  perhaps  incur  on  certain  ma- 
terials, they  fixed  their  proposed  gain  at  some  thirty  thousand  francs. 
The  tender  having  been  duly  despatched  to  the  proper  authorities,  it 
became  necessary  to  wait  for  the  result. 

Pascal  could  not  live  for  ever  with  his  partner,  however  much  the 
latter  might  have  wished  him  to  do  so,  and  accordingly  he  went  in  quest 
of  quarters  for  himself.  After  climbing  a  few  hundred  flights  of  stairs, 
he  at  length  lighted  on  some  furnished  rooms,  which,  although  not  par- 
ticularly comfortable,  had  the  immense  advantage  of  being  close  to  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  whither  his  future  avocations  would  constantly  call  him. 
Indeed,  all  the  official  business  concerning  the  demolitions  of  Paris  was 
in  those  days  transacted  in  a  long  gallery  just  under  the  roof  of  the 
municipal  palace,  at  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  steps  above 
the  level  of  the  soil. 

Scarcely  was  Pascal  installed  in  his  new  abode  than  he  received  a  visit 
from  his  friend,  Dr.  Lorilleux,  who  had  at  length  been  apprised  of  his 
return.  During  the  past  month  the  doctor  had  felt  particularly  anxious. 
What  was  his  future  brother-in-law  about  ?  What  did  he  intend  doing  ? 
Did  he  mean  to  return  to  Paris  1  Pascal's  prolonged  absence  in  Brittany 
almost  drove  Lorilleux  to  despair,  and  directly  he  heard  that  his  friend 
was  once  more  in  the  capital  he  hastened  to  go  and  see  him.  As  he 
entered  Pascal's  rooms  he  brushed  against  Jean  Lantier  who  was  going 
away  ;  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  him,  for  he  had  never  seen  him 
before,  and  besides,  the  contractor  was  merely  dressed  like  an  artisan 
in  decent  circumstances.  "At  last ! "  cried  Lorilleux,  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold.  "  At  last  I've  caught  my  deserter  !  The  carrier  pigeon  has 
come  back  again  after  all !  And  now  let  me  shake  hands  with  you,  and 
ask  just  one  question.  Why  on  earth  did  you  take  yourself  off  so 
mysteriously  ?     Will  you  condescend  to  enlighten  your  old  friend  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  will,"  answered  Pascal,  "and  all  the  more  readily  aa 
now  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  recall  my  determination." 

"Ah,  I  understand,  I  understand.  You  were  afraid  of  my  advice. 
You  dreaded  an  encounter  between  your  folly  and  my  wisdom.  Very 
good.  After  such  an  answer  I  fancy  I  can  guess  what  you  have  been 
up  to  :  you  have  evidently  been  doing  something  very  absurd  ?  " 

"  No,  1  don't  think  so." 

"  Well  then,  defend  yourself;  explain  yourself.    I  am  ready  to  listen." 

"  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  everything  in  a  word,  my  dear  fellow.  I  have 
become  a  dealer  in  old  houses  ;  I  pull  them  down  and  I  sell  the  materials. 
To  be  brief,  I  have  gone  into  the  'demolishing  trade."' 


THE  MATRIMONIAL  AMBASSADOR.  71 

"  That's  impossible  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  What,  you — an  old 
pupil  of  the  Ecole  Polytechnique  ?    You  must  be  joking  surely  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  I'm  speaking  seriously  ;  and  more  than  that — 
that  fat  man,  covered  with  plaster,  whom  you  brushed  against,  as  you 
came  in  here,  is  my  partner.  He  had  come  to  tell  me  that  our  tender 
for  nine  houses  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  has  been  accepted.  We  shall 
put  workmen  into  them  to-morrow." 

Pascal  then  related  the  story  of  his  partnership,  his  journey  into 
Brittany,  and  his  father's  anger,  not  forgetting  to  mention  the  forty 
thousand  francs  he  had  inherited  from  his  aunt.  Lorilleux  listened  in 
bewilderment,  constantly  raising  his  arms  to  the  ceiling  and  ejaculating, 
"Oh!"  and  "ah!"  as  if,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  had  never  heard  of  such 
madnoss  before. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  have  lost  your  head  !  "  said  he,  when  Pascal 
had  finished  his  narrative.  "  It's  a  bad  case,  and  I'm  afraid  that  there's 
no  remedy.  You  seem  to  think  that  life  is  a  romance,  and  you  act  like 
the  hero  of  a  serial  tale.  When  Paul  Feval  wishes  to  do  one  of  his 
characters  a  good  turn  he  presents  him  with  a  million,  without  having 
to  loosen  his  purse  strings.  But  in  real  life  people  don't  pick  up  millions 
like  that." 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  answered  Pascal  with  just  a  touch  of  self-conceit  in 
his  tone. 

"  Oh,  I  see  well  enough  that  it  isn't  advice  that  you  need,"  retorted 
the  doctor.  "  What  you  want  is  the  shower  bath.  You.  are  a  poet 
gone  astray,  and  yet  heaven  knows  the  Ecole  des  Ponts  et  Chaussees  is 
by  no  means  near  Mount  Parnassus.  I  certainly  never  expected  such 
things  of  a  mathematician.  You  don't  know  anything  of  life  or  its 
difficulties,  my  poor  fellow,  and  I'm  grieved  to  see  that  you  are  going 
to  pay  a  high  price  for  experience.  And  yet  you  might  have  taken 
example  from  me." 

"  Do  you  know,  Lorilleux,  you  are  not  at  all  encouraging,"  answered 
Pascal. 

"That's  because  I  speak  the  truth." 

Their  conversation  went  no  further  on  this  subject.  As  Pascal  had 
said,  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  retreat ;  and  if  Lorilleux  had  persisted 
in  his  censorious  remarks  he  would  have  uselessly  wounded  his  friend. 
However,  the  doctor  came  away  from  this  visit,  more  vexed  than  he 
had  ever  felt  before.  His  friend's  folly  would  cost  his  sister  forty 
thousand  francs  !  For  he  considered  the  money  which  Pascal  had 
brought  from  Brittany  as  irrevocably  lost,  and  was  quite  ready  to  go 
into  mourning  for  it.  The  only  thing  that  consoled  him  was  that  this 
experience  would  probably  sober  Pascal  and  bring  him  back  to  more 
positive  ideas.  Past  folly,  we  are  told,  is  a  guarantee  of  future  wisdom. 
It  was  better  that  his  friend  should  squander  forty  thousand  francs 
whilst  he  was  a  bachelor,  than  ruin  himself  after  marriage.  And  besides, 
even  when  his  aunt's  money  was  gone,  Pascal  would  always  have  a  snug 
little  fortune  coming  to  him  from  his  parents.  Such  were  Lorilleux's 
thoughts,  and  mindful  of  the  fact  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an 
unmitigated  evil,  he  reflected,  with  some  little  satisfaction  that,  as 
matters  stood,  Pascal  would  remain  under  his  thumb.  And  that  was 
a  very  important  point  indeed.     Had  the  young  engineer  continued  in 


72  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

the  service  of  the  State  he  would  certainly  have  been  appointed  to  some 
post  in  the  provinces,  where,  unknown  to  the  doctor,  he  might  easily 
have  entangled  himself  in  a  love  intrigue  and  have  got  married  without 
a  word  of  warning.  Where  would  Lorilleux's  fine  plans  have  been 
then  ?  But  now  Pascal  was  going  to  live  in  Paris,  and  he,  the  doctor, 
would  be  able  to  exercise  a  constant  surveillance  over  all  his  actions ; 
so  that  there  was  no  chance  of  his  escaping  the  fate  which  his  friend 
had  pre-assigned  him  with  such  admirable  foresight. 

With  these  ideas  running  in  his  head  it  is  no  wonder  that  Lorilleux 
became  a  frequent  visitor  to  Pascal's  rooms,  and  that  he  indeed  con- 
trived to  spend  nearly  every  evening  in  his  company.  ' '  How  goes  the 
novel  ?  "  he  would  ask  from  time  to  time  ;  whereupon  Pascal  was  wont 
to  reply,  with  unaffected  unconcern,  "  Oh,  not  badly,  my  dear  fellow, 
not  at  all  badly." 

The  fact  is,  that  if  the  enterprise  were  romantic,  the  profits  were  real 
enough.  The  houses  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  yielded  less  than  was 
anticipated,  but  the  gain  on  others  exceeded  the  amount  of  preliminary 
calculations.  For  instance,  two  important  lots  near  the  prison  of  St. 
Lazare — at  the  point  where  the  new  Boulevard  Magenta  was  to  cat 
through  the  Faubourg  St.  Denise — proved  particularly  renumerative. 
It  is  true  that  the  two  partners  were  unsparing  in  energy  and  activity. 
Pascal  was  running  about  from  morning  to  night,  calling  on  a  dozen 
persons  in  the  course  of  a  morning,  drawing  up  tenders  and  contracts, 
besieging  the  members  of  the  municipal  building  committee,  and  taking 
the  offices  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  by  storm.  In  the  meantime  Lantier, 
often  up  to  his  knees  in  plaster,  was  busy  counting  beams  and  boards, 
blocks  of  stone  and  piles  of  slates,  driving  skilful  bargains  for  cash,  and 
wheedling  would-be  purchasers  of  the  humbler  sort  over  litres  of  "petit 
bleu  "  in  the  wine  shops. 

The  activity  which  the  two  partners  displayed  made  Lorilleux  reflect. 
He  could  not  help  noticing  their  jovial  air.  Pascal  had  far  more  assur- 
ance of  manner,  his  air  of  confidence  alone  bespeaking  the  successful 
man  ;  while  Lantier,  albeit  stout  enough  already,  was  steadily  gaining 
flesh.  "  So  they  are  making  money,"  muttered  the  doctor  to  himself. 
"  Pascal  didn't  deceive  me.  It's  positively  wonderful.  No  one  ever 
heard  of  such  a  thing  before  !  Well,  after  all,  so  much  the  better.  At 
all  events  he's  working  for  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  doubly  pleased,  both 
as  his  friend  and  his  future  brother-in-law." 

Pascal's  parents  had  been  the  first  to  learn  of  the  success  of  his  enter- 
prise. They  had  refused  to  listen  to  him  when  he  was  at  Lannion,  but 
he  knew  well  enough  that  they  would  read  his  letters.  Accordingly  he 
wrote  very  frequently,  but  only  Madame  Divorne  replied,  sending  him 
regularly  every  week  one  of  those  long  loving  letters  which  mothers 
alone  know  how  to  pen.  As  for  the  solicitor,  he  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten either  his  son  or  else  the  art  of  correspondence,  not  sending  so 
much  as  a  line  or  even  a  message.  At  the  outset  Pascal  was  deeply 
grieved  by  his  father's  obstinate  silence,  but  little  by  little  he  grew  less 
worried,  for  he  felt  convinced  that  the  solicitor  would  finish  by  sur- 
rendering, especially  when  placed  in  presence  of  some  such  convincing 
argument  as  a  roll  of  State  bonds  or  a  deed  of  mortgage  on  first-class 
property. 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  73 

And  the  young  engineer  was  soon  in  a  position  to  furnish  such  an 
argument.  Business  proved  remarkably  prosperous,  and  as  the  trans- 
formation of  Paris  proceeded,  so  many  old  houses  were  marked  for 
destruction,  and  so  many  new  thoroughfares  were  traced  out,  that  the 
demolishers  and  the  builders  alike  scarcely  knew  on  which  side  to  begin. 
Here,  on  the  one  hand,  the  pick-axe  felled  miles  of  walls  to  the  ground  ; 
and  here,  on  the  other,  rose  a  well-nigh  unbroken  league  of  scaffoldings. 
So  far,  however,  our  two  partners  had  not  gone  in  for  building  ;  they 
had  contented  themselves  with  the  humbler,  but  in  proportion  equally 
lucrative,  task  of  clearing  away  the  condemned  tenements,  and  selling 
the  old  materials  at  the  highest  possible  figure.  When,  after  two  years' 
exertions,  they  cast  up  their  accounts,  they  discovered  that  they  each 
of  them  possessed  rather  more  than  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
francs — that  is,  that  they  had  quadrupled  their  original  capital,  or,  as 
Jean  Lantier  put  it,  their  francs  had  almost  swollen  to  the  size  of  dollars. 

This  magnificent  result  fairly  dazzled  Lorilleux.  He  did  all  he  could 
to  doubt  its  truth,  but  the  figures  were  there,  and  it  would  have  been 
ridiculous  to  question  their  accuracy.  The  doctor's  chronic  complaint 
was  prudence,  and  so,  when  Pascal  showed  him  the  balance-sheet  of  the 
firm,  he  asked,  "  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  pause  ?  Aren't  you 
rich  enough  ?     You  might  lose  all  this  in  future  speculations." 

But  Pascal  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  listen  to  advice  of  this  kind. 
He  hadn't  begun  to  deal  in  stones  and  mortar,  he  said,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  abandoning  the  trade,  when  it  was  just  in  its  most  prosperous 
phase.  And  so  Lorilleux  had  to  recall  his  timid  suggestions,  and  resign 
himself  to  the  inevitable.  Besides,  there  was  consolation  in  the  fact 
that  his  sister  would  have  her  carriage,  which  he  promised  himself  he 
would  borrow  from  time  to  time,  so  as  to  throw  a  little  dust  in  the  eyes 
of  certain  sceptical  patients,  who  refused  to  believe  that  true  talent 
would  be  compelled  to  stalk  the  streets  on  foot. 

However,  Pascal  did  not  think  of  a  carriage,  or,  at  least,  he  did  not 
speak  of  one.  But  as  he  found  his  little  lodging  more  and  mere  uncom- 
fortable, he  determined  to  procure  fresh  quarters,  where  he  might,  at 
least,  have  elbow  room,  and  surround  himself  with  furniture  of  a  style 
he  liked.  He  was  partial  to  comfort,  and  considered  that  he  was 
entitled  to  it.  Accordingly,  he  took  a  flat  in  one  of  the  grand  new 
houses  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  just  in  front  of  the  Tour  St.  Jacques,  and 
was  fortunate  enough  to  find  that  the  rent  was  not  more  than  three 
times  as  much  as  it  should  have  been.  It  is  true  that  the  view  was 
included  in  the  amount,  and  this  view  was  then  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful in  Paris.  It  extended  over  the  garden  around  the  Tour  St.  Jacques, 
over  the  Seine,  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  the  Sainte  Chapelle,  being 
limited  in  the  far  distance  by  the  picturesque  old  houses  of  the  Mont 
St.  Genevieve  and  the  stately  dome  of  the  Pantheon.  Now-a-days,  un- 
fortunately, the  view  is  intercepted  by  those  two  gimcrack,  pretentious 
edifices — the  Theatre  Lyrique  and  the  Theatre  du  Chatelet — against 
whose  vicinity  their  neighbour,  that  inimitable  gem,  the  Tour  St. 
Jacques,  fruitlessly  protests  in  the  name  of  art  and  culture.  As  Pascal 
was  by  no  means  anxious  to  have  his  rent  raised,  or  to  receive  notice  to 
quit  as  soon  as  he  had  embellished  his  new  abode,  he  prudently  asked 
for  a  lease,  and  having  defrayed  the  cost  of  this  document,  and  paid  six 


74  THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

months'  rent  in  advance,  he  swore  before  the  doorkeeper  that  he  would 
faithfully  observe  all  the  rules  of  the  house,  and  finally  found  himself 
"at  home."  Not  that  he  immediately  occupied  his  apartment ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  put  a  number  of  workmen  into  it,  and  transformed  the 
seven  rooms  it  comprised  into  three,  so  as  to  be  able  to  receive  more 
than  two  persons  at  the  same  time,  to  stretch  out  his  arms  without 
knocking  his  hands  against  the  walls,  and  to  sneeze  without  fear  of 
breaking  the  clock  glass.  The  landlord  allowed  him  to  do  whatever  he 
pleased,  reserving  the  right  of  exacting,  later  on,  a  very  high  price 
indeed  for  the  damage  done  to  his  house. 

On  the  adornment  of  his  new  abode,  Pascal  lavished  no  less  than 
twelve  thousand  francs,  for  which  he  was  able  to  obtain  some  handsome 
furniture,  with  tasteful  hangings  and  carpets,  and  three  or  four  bronzes, 
of  a  different  style  to  those  which  are  usually  found  in  a  swell  hair- 
dresser's saloon.  Singularly  enough,  Lorilleux  did  not  play  the  Mentor 
on  this  occasion.  Indeed,  far  from  preaching  economy,  he  almost  urged 
Pascal  on  to  additional  expenditure.  The  fact  is  he  had  calculated  that  the 
apartment  would  be  quite  large  enough  for  a  young  married  couple,  and 
he  considered  that  money  would  not  be  thrown  away  in  the  purchase  of 
good  furniture.  If  he  evinced  such  a  lively  interest  in  the  distribution 
of  the  rooms,  in  the  colour  of  the  hangings,  and  the  solidity  of  the 
chairs  and  tables,  it  was  because  he  was,  in  fancy,  furnishing  his  sister's 
future  abode.  So  great  was  his  conviction  on  this  subject  that  he  pre- 
vented his  friend  from  purchasing  an  admirable  little  painting  by 
Boucher,  on  the  grounds  that  the  subject  was  scarcely  a  proper  one. 

About  this  time  the  town  of  Lannion  was  surprised  by  rumours  that 
young  Pascal  Divorne  had  become  immensely  rich  in  Paris.  The  jingle 
of  his  gold  had  reached  the  ears  of  his  fellow-townsmen,  who  speedily 
opined  that  he  must  be  a  millionnaire  at  least  three  or  four  times  over. 
This  incredible  news  had  been  carried  into  Brittany  by  a  couple  of 
young  fellows,  who,  after  coming  to  Paris  in  hopes  of  making  their 
fortunes,  were  constrained  to  return  to  their  native  province  in  im- 
poverished circumstances.  They  had  needed  assistance  at  a  critical 
moment,  and  Pascal  had  readily  lent  them  a  helping  hand.  These 
worthy  fellows  estimated  the  young  engineer's  wealth  in  proportion  to 
their  own  gratitude,  and  so  they  went  about  relating  that  he  rode  in  his 
own  carriage,  and  lived  in  a  perfect  palace.  They  were  at  first  only 
half  believed,  but  their  statements  were  speedily  corroborated  by  a 
third  informant — a  young  man  of  Lannion,  who  had  gone  to  Paris  to 
complete  his  studies,  and  whom  Pascal  had  obliged  once  or  twice  with 
Small  sums,  borrowed  either  to  keep  a  pressing  tailor  at  bay,  or  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  a  pleasure  party.  This  young  fellow  had  dined  with 
Pascal  on  two  or  three  occasions,  and  he  was  never  tired  of  extolling 
the  young  engineer's  "  magnificent  "  abode.  The  carved  oak  furniture 
and  the  bronzes  had  fairly  turned  his  head,  and  he  related,  in  all  good 
faith,  such  incredible,  extravagant  stories  of  Pascal's  wealth  that  the 
folks  of  Lannion  were  altogether  stupefied.  They  half  believed  that  the 
solicitor's  son  washed  his  hands  in  a  gold  basin,  and  slept  on  a  bed  of 
bank  notes. 

The  natural  outcome  of  all  these  reports  was  that  Pascal,  who  had 
been  so  slandered  and  derided,  was  now  looked  upon  as  a  demigod. 


THB    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOB.  75 

The  fathers  who  had  thanked  Providence  that  he  was  no  son  of  theirs 
held  him  up  as  an  example  to  their  own  children,  and  those  who  had  the 
most  persistently  blackened  him  confessed  their  error  with  a  proper 
sense  of  shame.  So  true  it  is  that  no  man  can  have  a  more  powerful 
advocate  in  his  favour  than  wealth.  After  this  change  of  opinion,  a 
perfect  avalanche  of  letters  from  Lannion  fell  upon  the  young  engineer. 
For  instance,  so-and-so  reminded  him  of  their  old  friendship,  and  what's- 
his-name  begged  him  to  protect  some  nephew  or  cousin  who  was  starting 
for  the  capital.  Various  busy-bodies  also  wrote  to  acquaint  him  with 
the  names  of  his  traducers,  and  a  municipal  councillor  ventured  to 
appeal  to  his  "  good  heart  "  in  favour  of  the  poor  of  Lannion,  his  native 
town.  This  last  missive  was  the  only  one  that  Pascal  answered — 
enclosing  a  bank  note  for  five  hundred  francs  in  an  envelope,  with  a 
slip  of  paper  on  which  he  just  scribbled,  "  For  the  Poor."  Lannion  was 
thunderstruck  when  it  heard  of  this.  Such  regal  munificence  proved 
that  the  young  engineer's  fortune  had  not  been  exaggerated,  and  it  was 
indeed  plain  enough  to  all  the  gossips  that  he  was  really  a  millionnaire. 
Now  that  his  son  was  supposed  to  be  such  a  rich  man,  M.  Divorne 
became  a  more  important  personage  than  ever.  He  was  looked  up  to 
with  the  greatest  possible  respect,  as  if  his  own  brow  were  illuminated 
with  the  aureol  of  Pascal's  wealth.  And  yet  the  solicitor  was  the  only 
person  who  did  not  believe  in  what  he  styled  "  so  much  foolish  pro- 
vincial tittle-tattle."  It  is  true  that  Pascal  had  written  home  to  say 
that  he  was  making  money  ;  but  was  this  at  all  likely  to  be  true  ?  He 
(M.  Divorne)  had  prophesied  that  his  son  would  ruin  himself,  and  the 
prediction  was  sure  to  be  realised,  for  a  father  cannot  possibly  make  a 
mistake.  Thus  every  day  he  expected  to  see  Pascal  return  to  Lannion 
destitute,  humble,  and  repentant,  like  the  Prodigal  Son.  It  was  the 
five-hundred-franc  note,  which  Pascal  sent  for  the  poor  relief  fund,  that 
first  tampered  with  his  convictions.  Might  there  not  be,  after  all,  some 
truth  in  the  rumours  which  were  flying  about,  for  now-a-days  such  sur- 
prising, incredible  things  occur  ?  At  the  thought  that  he  might  possibly 
have  made  a  mistake  in  predicting  his  son's  ruin,  the  solicitor  became  a 
prey  to  conflicting  emotions.  His  head  swam,  and  he  did  not  know 
whether  he  ought  to  mourn  over  the  non-fulfilment  of  his  prophecy,  or 
rejoice  over  Pascal's  success.  At  all  events,  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  remain  in  this  state  of  uncertainty ;  and  yet  he  knew  very  well  that 
he  must  go  to  Paris  if  he  wished  to  learn  the  truth.  Now,  parental 
dignity  required  that  he  should  not  initiate  such  a  journey  ;  for  he  had 
blamed  Pascal  so  severely  that  his  visit  to  the  capital  would  be  construed 
as  a  proof  of  repentance,  as  an  act  of  contrition.  Fortunately,  however, 
there  was  a  means  of  overcoming  the  difficulty.  Instead  of  leaving 
Lannion  spontaneously,  he  might  make  it  appear  as  if  he  only  went  to 
Paris  at  the  urgent  request  of  his  wife,  whose  maternal  anxiety  had  been 
roused  by  all  these  rumours  concerning  her  son.  Adopting  these  tactics, 
the  solicitor  skilfully  induced  his  wife  to  urge  him  to  make  the  journey, 
and  after  a  little  lukewarm  resistance,  devised  merely  for  form's  sake, 
he  graciously  acceded  to  her  request.  One  fine  morning,  having  secretly 
made  all  necessary  arrangements,  he  declared  that  his  paternal  resent- 
ment was  conquered  by  maternal  love,  and  he  immediately  booked  a 
seat  in  the  diligence  to  Rennes,  whence  Paris  was  reached  by  rail.    No 


76  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

one  in  Lannion  had  been  made  acquainted  with  his  intentions,  for  he 
wished  to  take  Pascal  by  surprise ;  but  in  this  respect  he  was  doomed 
to  disappointment. 

Pascal  was  quietly  conversing  with  Lorilleux,  who  devoted  nearly  all 
his  evenings  to  his  future  brother-in-law,  when  M.  Divorne  presented 
himself  at  the  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  The  young  engineer 
was  delighted  to  see  his  father,  but  he  was  in  no  wise  astonished,  for  he 
had  long  looked  forward  to  this  little  triumph.  Their  meeting  was 
most  cordial  and  affectionate,  and  the  stern  solicitor  allowed  his  heart 
to  soften,  albeit  that  Lorilleux  was  standing  by,  an  attentive  observer  of 
the  scene.  At  his  first  glance  round  the  room,  he  realised  that  there 
must  be  considerable  truth  in  what  Pascal  had  stated  in  his  letters  ;  and 
he  felt  a  little  bit  ashamed  of  what  he  called  his  long  "firmness." 
However,  he  prudently  refrained  from  raking  up  the  ashes  of  the  past, 
and  contented  himself  wfth  being  amiable  and  affectionate.  As  he  was 
desirous  of  information,  he  gaily  recounted  the  various  rumours  which 
had  caused  such  a  stir  in  Lannion,  and  Pascal,  after  a  hearty  laugh  over 
his  fellow-townsmen's  flights  of  imagination,  proceeded  to  reveal  the 
truth.  He  enjoyed,  he  said,  an  income  of  over  eight  thousand  francs 
per  annum,  which  he  had  gained  in  little  more  than  two  years.  There 
was,  of  course,  an  immense  difference  between  this  modest  sum  and  the 
millions  he  was  stated  to  possess  ;  and  yet  the  solicitor  was  none  the 
less  greatly  surprised.  Diving  back  into  the  past,  he  remembered  that 
when  he  was  of  the  same  age  as  Pascal  he  was  merely  a  simple  clerk  in 
his  predecessor's  office,  at  the  meagre  salary  of  a  thousand  francs  a  year  ; 
and  he  was  positvely  astounded  to  find  that  his  son  had  attained  such  a 
superior  position  in  so  short  a  space  of  time.  In  fact,  he  declared  that 
Pascal  had  been  making  money  far  too  rapidly  and  easily  ;  and  without 
questioning  his  honesty — in  which,  thank  God,  he  had  a  father's  fervent 
faith — he  could  not  help  opining  that  there  was  something  absolutely 
immoral  about  such  a  swift  acquisition  of  wealth.  Ah  !  where  indeed 
were  the  golden  days  when  a  man  had  to  toil  a  quarter  of  a  century 
before  amassing  more  than  half  of  Pascal's  present  income  !  After  these 
remarks,  he  thought  that  he  might  venture  to  revert  to  the  subject  of 
their  past  estrangement ;  and  so,  mounting  his  favourite  hobby,  he 
proved,  as  clear  as  daylight,  that  his  son  had  acted  most  foolishly  in 
leaving  the  state  service,  against  the  sensible  advice  of  an  experienced 
father.  Carried  away  in  this  fashion  by  paternal  obstinacy,  he  added, 
in  a  pompous  tone,  "And  even  if  you  did  possess  the  millions  which 
people  talk  of  in  Lannion,  I  should  still  repeat  to  you,  '  You  acted 
wrongly.'  I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel,  I  do  not  desire  to  be  unpleasant; 
but  I  cannot,  I  will  not,  conceal  from  you  my  opiiiion.  It  is  not  because 
you  have  proved  successful  in  your  new  venture  that  my  principles 
ought  to  change.  They  are  immutable.  Your  success  has  left  them  as 
firm  as  ever.  You  have  succeeded,  no  doubt ;  but  you  ought  to  have 
failed.     You  are  simply  an  exception  to  the  rule,  and  nothing  more." 

Pascal  knew  well  enough  that  it  would  be  simple  folly  to  oppose  his 
father's  firm,  preconceived  opinions,  and  so  he  graciously  nodded  assent 
to  everything  that  M.  Divorne  said.  Besides,  he  had  two  adversaries 
to  contend  against,  for  Lorilleux  assisted  the  solicitor  with  his  own 
eloquence.     It  was  a  day  of  triumph  for  Pascal's  friend  ;  at  last  he  met 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  77 

a  man  who  looked  at  life  like  himself — a  man  who  shared  the  same 
prudent  views,  and  disapproved  of  all  romantic  conduct.  The  doctor 
and  the  solicitor  soon  became  fast  friends,  for  the  more  they  conversed 
the  more  they  perceived  that  their  opinions  were  identical.  Lorilleux 
naturally  profited  of  the  opportunity  to  win  the  good  graces  of  his 
friend's  father,  and  he  delicately  contrived  to  hint  that,  as  Pascal  was 
so  successful,  he  could  not  always  remain  a  single  man.  To  his  delight 
he  learnt  that  M.  Divorne  was  in  no  wise  anxious  for  his  son  to  marry 
an  heiress  ;  all  he  wished  was  that  he  might  secure  a  wife  whom  he 
could  really  love  and  esteem,  quite  irrespective  of  her  dowry. 

A  fortnight  speedily  elapsed,  and  the  solicitor  at  last  declared  that 
it  was  high  time  for  him  to  think  of  returning  to  Lannion.  "  What 
shall  I  say  to  the  folks  there?  "  he  asked  his  son.  "  They  are  sure  to 
inquire  what  you  are  doing,  and  I  can  scarcely  say  that  you  are  a 
'  demolisher.'  Ah  !  if  you  had  only  remained  in  the  State  service,  you 
would  have  had  a  handle  to  your  name,  and  a  title  to  put  on  your 
card." 

These  few  words  fully  explained  M.  Divorne's  long  vexation.  His 
pride  suffered,  because  his  son  had  not  become  a  "functionary." 

"But,  my  dear  father,"  answered  Pascal,  "I  am  still  an  engineer, 
remember,  and,  more  than  that,  an  architect  as  well.  As  for  the  gossips 
of  Lannion,  tell  them,  if  you  like,  that  I  am  rebuilding  Paris." 

"  Can't  you  speak  seriously  ?  "  retorted  the  solicitor.  "  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  you  are  always  joking.  When  will  you  become  serious, 
like  Doctor  Lorilleux  ?  He  understands  life,  and  knows  how  to  retain 
his  dignity.  Ah  !  my  dear  Pascal,  you  are  a  lucky  fellow,  for  you  possess 
a  true  friend,  and  few  people  can  say  as  much." 

If  M.  Divorne  was  delighted  with  Lorilleux,  he  was  also  well  pleased 
with  Jean  Lantier.  He  had  at  first  been  rather  surprised  by  the 
scarcely  aristocratic  appearance  of  his  son's  partner,  but  Lantier's 
frank,  easy,  jovial  manner  speedily  charmed  him.  In  honour  of  his 
partner's  father,  the  contractor  gave  a  grand  dinner,  served  at  his  own 
house,  in  such  splendid  style  that  the  solicitor  was  positively  stupefied. 
At  the  outset,  he  had  been  far  from  imagining  that  this  fat  little  man, 
who  was  habitually  covered  with  dust  or  plaster,  possessed  such  a 
comfortable — not  to  say  luxurious — home,  and  could  serve  such  exquisite 
dishes,  and  especially  such  excellent  wines  at  his  table. 

However,  the  solicitor  at  last  started  for  Lannion,  but  not  without 
having  made  Pascal  promise  that  he  would  at  least  spend  a  few  weeks 
in  the  old  home  every  year.  Mme.  Divorne  was  naturally  delighted 
to  learn  that  her  son's  enterprise  had  proved  so  successful,  and  that  lie 
already  enjoyed  such  an  enviable  position.  "  We  shall  have  to  think 
of  marrying  Pascal,"  she  remarked  ;  "  and  I  must  try  and  find  some 
good,  honest  girl  worthy  of  such  a  husband." 

About  that  time  a  very  similar  idea  occurred  to  Jean  Lantier.  ' '  We 
are  both  of  us  in  capital  circumstances  now,"  he  mused  ;  "  but  if  I'm 
married  and  done  for,  it  isn't  the  same  with  'Monsieur  the  engineer.' 
Ah  !  if  I  could  only  marry  him  to  one  of  my  daughters.  What  happiness 
for  her,  and  what  an  honour  for  me  !  Just  fancy  !  To  have  the  first 
scholar  of  the  Ecole  des  Pouts  et  Chauss^es  for  my  son-in-law  !  At  any 
rate,  one  may  have  a  try.     All  three  of  my  daughters  will  soon  be  of 


78  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

an  age  to  marry  ;  they  are  all  of  them  pretty  and  well  brought  up,  and, 
upon  my  word,  I'll  give  him  the  choice  among  them  !  " 

So  tfms,  Pascal's  celibacy  was  at  the  same  time  threatened  by 
Lorilleux,  Lantier,  and  his  mother,  without  his  having  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  the  various  designs  that  had  been  set  on  foot. 


IV. 

For  five  or  six  years  the  greatest  events  in  Pascal's  existence  were  a  few 
visits  from  his  father,  and  a  few  journeys  into  Brittany.  He  led  a 
quiet,  peaceful,  regular  life,  although  he  was  his  own  master,  with 
"  pleasure"  within  his  reach,  money  at  his  disposal,  and  the  blood  of 
youth  coursing  through  his  veins.  Without,  perhaps,  being  of  immaculate 
virtue,  he  was  none  the  less  well  deserving  of  the  favour  of  a  mother 
with  eligible  daughters.  Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that  his  exemplary 
conduct  was  not  entirely  of  his  own  inspiration,  for  though  he  had  no. 
ambition  to  imitate  either  the  gandin  or  the  petit  crevi  (as  the  Parisians 
in  those  days  called  their  young  men  about  town),  he  might,  never- 
theless, have  perhaps  launched  forth  into  some  little  frivolity,  had  Dr. 
Lorilleux  not  been  there  to  keep  him  from  temptation.  The  doctor  did 
not  content  himself  with  watching  over  him,  like  a  father  might  watch 
over  his  son  ;  for  he  might  have  been  a  mother,  and  Pascal  a  young 
girl — so  great,  indeed,  were  Lorilleux  solicitude  and  vigilance.  Like 
Argus  with  the  hundred  eyes,  he  was  ever  wakeful  and  attentive,  and 
day  and  night  he  mounted  guard  to  shield  his  future  brother-in-law 
from  evil.  The  dragon  who  was  stationed  before  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides  was  but  a  sorry  sentinel  in  comparison  with  him.  When 
once  or  twice  there  seemed  a  likelihood  of  Pascal  engaging  rather 
seriously  in  some  love  affair,  Lorilleux  exerted  all  his  skill  and  cunning 
to  turn  him  from  his  purpose.  The  doctor  was  expert  in  all  sorts  of 
little  tricks  and  devices,  and,  in  fact,  he  was  by  no  means  particular 
what  stratagem  he  employed  whenever  there  seemed  a  prospect  of 
Pascal  allowing  his  heart  to  carry  him  away.  Lorilleux  looked  on  the 
young  engineer  as  a  deposit,  of  which  he  would  have  to  render  due 
account  some  time  hence  ;  and  so,  with  the  view  of  keeping  this  deposit 
intact,  he  resorted  to  all  sorts  of  ruses,  sorne  of  which  were  possibly 
dishonest.  However,  he  had  such  a  high  opinion  of  his  own  skill,  that 
he  fancied  his  devices  had  not  aroused  the  least  suspicion. 

What  Lorilleux  the  most  especially  dreaded  was  to  see  his  friend  go 
into  society.  Parisian  ball-rooms  are  replete  with  spider's  webs,  spun 
by  mammas  with  marriageable  daughters  ;  and  unwary,  trusting 
bachelors  are  oft  apt  to  entangle  themselves  in  the  filaments,  whilst 
they   buzz  round  some  youthful  belle,  or  gaily  tread  the  paces  of  the 

c/y  dance.  It  is  always  the  same  familiar  tune — "Will  you  walk 
mto  iny  parlour,  said  the  Spider  to  the  Fly."  The  "detrimental  "  may 
come  and  go  without  much  fear  of  danger— he  is  only  liable  to  lose  his 
own  heart  ;  but  woe  to  the  really  eligible  bachelor  !  He  must  look  out 
for  man-traps  at  each  step  he  takes  ;  and  if  he  only  loses  his  head  one 
evening,  it  is  all  UP  with  him — his  fate  is  settled.  He  is  caught,  seized, 
confused,  entangled,  bQund,  and  married,  before  fee  is  aware  of  what  has 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  79 

happened  to  him.  He  has  scarcely  decided  whether  he  will  marry  or 
not — he  has  barely  thought  of  making  a  choice,  before  the  fatal  word  has 
been  extorted  from  him,  with  all  its  inevitable  consequences. 

The  doctor  was  aware  of  this.  If  he  were  not  indebted  to  personal 
experience  for  his  knowledge,  at  any  rate  he  could  rely  on  the  accuracy 
of  his  informants,  and  accordingly  he  did  everything  in  his  power  to 
prevent  Pascal  from  availing  himself  of  his  wide  connection  to  go  into 
society.  Besides,  Lorilleux  knew  well  enough  that  he  would  not  have 
been  able  to  follow  his  friend  into  every  drawing-room,  and  watch  his 
goings  on  ;  he  could  not  have  availed  himself  of  each  invitation  that 
Pascal  might  receive,  for  if  the  young  engineer  was  already  well  known 
and  esteemed — thus  becoming  a  most  desirable  guest — he,  Lorilleux,  the 
struggling  medical  man,  had  no  claim  whatever  to  the  favour  of  society. 
Folks  who  would  readily  have  invited  Pascal  had  never  heard  of  Dr. 
Lorilleux,  and  had  undoubtedly  no  desire  of  cultivating  his  acquaintance. 
Lorilleux  realised  all  this  with  a  sigh,  and  as  it  was  desirable  his  friend 
should  not  go  into  society,  he  determined  to  find  him  at  least  some 
relaxation,  by  bringing  a  form  of  society  to  him.  Thanks  to  the  doctor's 
manoeuvres,  Pascal's  luxurious  chambers  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  soon 
became  the  favourite  rendezvous  of  a  number  of  young  men  of  his  own 
age — men  of  undoubted  culture,  of  agreeable  manners,  and  all  of  them 
more  or  less  noteworthy  in  some  respect  or  other.  It  should  be  added 
that  Lorilleux  had  been  careful  to  pass  them  through  his  sieve  before 
introducing  them  to  Pascal.     None  of  them  had  sisters  to  marry. 

Pascal  allowed  his  friend  to  do  as  he  liked.  He  was  not  so  blind  as 
the  doctor  thought,  for  he  had  noticed  all  these  little  manoeuvres,  but, 
as  he  was  quite  unacquainted  with  their  object,  they  had  altogether  failed 
to  alarm  him.  The  men  who  the  more  especially  fear  tyranny  are 
habitually  those  whose  wills  are  weak — they  realise  their  own  irresolu- 
tion, and  are  yet  constantly  in  dread  of  their  liberty  being  threatened. 
These  undecided  folks,  who  are  always  wavering  between  Peter's  opinion 
and  Paul's  idea,  are  terrible  companions  indeed.  At  the  slightest  thing 
they  raise  the  standard  of  independence,  loudly  proclaim  their  intention 
of  revolting,  and  then,  to  the  stupefaction  of  those  who  are  unacquainted 
with  their  characters,  they  suddenly  subside  into  abject  submission,  and 
do  whatever  may  be  required  of  them.  If  they  marry,  you  may  be  sure 
it  is  they  who  will  wear  the  skirts,  while  their  wives  don  the  breeches 
and  exercise  all  the  authority  that  pertains  thereunto. 

Now  Lorilleux  had  not  to  contend  against  petty  revolts  on  indifferent 
subjects.  Pascal  was  too  sure  of  his  own  will  and  of  his  capacity  to  do 
what  he  chose  on  great  occasions,  to  dread  anybody's  influence.  So  far 
from  being  offended  by  his  friend's  conduct,  he  was  grateful  for  his 
solicitude.  Besides,  this  style  of  life  was  in  conformity  with  his  tastes. 
After  running  about  all  day  he  scarcely  cared  for  fresh  excursions  in 
the  evening,  and  yet  he  was  partial  to  a  friendly  smoke  and  chat.  His 
great  delight  was  to  enjoy  a  long  talk  with  four  or  five  friends  after  the 
day's  labours  had  been  done  with  ;  and,  indeed,  this  generally  happened 
every  evening,  to  the  great  despair  of  the  doorkeeper  of  the  house,  who 
on  Wet  nights  was  especially  indignant  that  so  many  muddy  pairs  of  boots 
should  soil  his  well-waxed  stairs. 

During  the  daytime  Pascal  was  absorbed  in  work,  for  the  enterprises 


80  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

in  which  he  and  Lantier  engaged  steadily  increased  both  in  number  and 
magnitude.  He  possessed  the  gift  of  infusing  his  own  wonderful  activity 
into  those  around  him.  He  knew  how  to  requite  zeal,  and  never  haggled 
with  the  people  he  employed.  The  result  was  that  his  clerks  exerted 
themselves  to  the  utmost,  knowing  well  enough  that  they  would  be  paid 
double  wages  for  double  toil,  and  well  pleased  to  increase  their  own 
income  by  swelling  the  profits  of  such  a  liberal  employer.  Competing 
contractors,  somewhat  envious  of  the  rapid  success  which  the  firm  of 
"  Divorne  &  Lantier  "  had  achieved,  asked  themselves  if  the  young 
engineer  were  not  somewhat  of  a  sorcerer,  racking  their  brains  to  discover 
the  solution  of  a  problem  which  may  be  very  easily  explained  :  Pascal's 
winning  manners  had  endeared  him  to  all  he  came  in  contact  with,  and 
besides,  he  knew  how  to  sacrifice  a  thousand  franc  note  whenever  occasion 
required. 

After  realising  large  profits  in  the  "  demolishing  "  business,  the  two 
partners  determined  to  tackle  the  building  trade — a  very  delicate  enter- 
prise in  which  even  many  skilful  fellows  come  to  the  ground.  But  they 
proved  successful,  simply  because  they  based  their  operations  on  a 
logical  course  of  reasoning.  They  did  not  need  to  consult  any  statistical 
work  to  learn  that  in  Paris,  as  elsewhere,  there  is  only  a  limited  number 
of  wealthy  people.  They  knew  this  already,  and  they  based  all  their 
calculations  upon  it  ;  contrary  to  the  usual  habit  of  Parisian  landlords, 
whose  architects  are  almost  invariably  employed  in  raising  perfect 
palaces  with  sculptured  facades  and  tesselated  halls.  The  first  floors  of 
these  abodes  are  only  within  the  reach  of  millionnaires,  and  a  man  must 
even  have  a  decent  account  at  his  banker's  to  be  able  to  reside  on  the 
topmost  storey.  The  foolishly  obstinate  landlords,  who  persist  in  rear- 
ing these  monumental  piles,  have  over  and  over  again  been  told  that 
only  a  limited  number  of  persons  can  afford  to  pay  more  than  £100  rent 
per  annum  ;  but  it  has  only  been  so  much  time  and  trouble  lost.*  Some 
day  when  these  superb  palaces  are  solely  tenanted  by  some  insolent 
grumbling  doorkeeper,  when  the  bill-boards  bearing  the  mention, 
"Apartments  to  Let,"  have  for  many  a  long  quarter  been  fruitlessly 
exposed  to  wind  and  rain,  the  disconsolate  landlords  will  no  doubt 
hearken  to  the  complaints  of  their  diminishing  purses.  By  means  of 
innumerable  partitions  they  will  endeavour  to  divide  and  subdivide  the 
vast  rooms  ;  but  they  will  never  succeed  in  turning  them  into  com- 
modious lodgings,  and  they  will  always  be  obliged  to  ask  for  a  high 
rent.  A  good  many  of  them  will  no  doubt  ruin  themselves  at  this  game, 
and  then  the  others  will  begin  to  reflect.  They  will  prudently  give  up 
erecting  over-decorated  palaces  and  content  themselves  with  building 
simple  inhabitable  houses. 

With  practical  modesty  and  common  sense  Pascal  and  his  partner  took 
the  latter  course  at  the  very  outset  of  their  new  enterprise.  An  honest 
man  with  a  family  and  an  income  of  less  than  a  thousand  a  year,  could 

*  These  lines,  penned  by  M.  Gaborian  prior  to  the  Franco-German  war,  were  truly 
prophetic.  His  forbodings  have  been  fully  realised  by  the  grievous  crisis  of  1SS2-1883. 
The  working  classes  are  now  almost  quite  unable  to  lodge  themselves  within  Paris, 
and  the  middle  classes  have  great  difficulty  in  satisfying  the  exactions  of  their  land- 
lords. Many  of  the  latter  have  moreover  experienced  great  trouble  in  finding  tenants 
for  their  costly  piles. — Trans. 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  81 

find  a  suitable  dwelling  in  their  houses  ;  so  that  scarcely  were  they 
completed  than  they  were  let,  from  cellar  to  garret,  at  reasonable  and 
yet  advantageous  rents,  which  represented  some  seven  or  eight  per  cent, 
interest  on  the  invested  capital.  These  houses  so  easily  let  were  yet 
more  easily  sold.  Purchasers  started  up  on  all  sides,  and  the  nosegay 
which  the  Paris  masons  habitually  attach  to  the  last  finished  stack  of 
chimneys  had  barely  time  to  fade  before  the  house  it  bloomed  above 
changed  hands.  Thus  Pascal  was  making  himself  a  name  as  a  competent 
architect,  and  the  capital  of  the  firm  was  steadily  increasing. 

This  constant  good  fortune,  due  to  great  exertions,  great  skill  and 
knowledge,  surprised  Lorilleux  prodigiously.  As  he  could  not  explain 
it  to  himself,  he  fell  back  on  the  hackneyed  phrase  which  incompetent 
fools,  vegetating  in  obscurity,  so  often  repeat  anent  clever  fellows  who 
succeed  :  "  How  lucky  they  are  !  "  he  murmured.  He  himself  was  not 
a  lucky  man,  as  he  acknowledged  with  no  little  bitterness.  He  had 
sown  patiently  enough,  and  yet,  contrary  to  the  Scriptural  promise,  he 
had  reaped  nothing.  Some  little  deception  awaited  him  every  morning. 
He  continually  found  some  error  of  calculation  even  in  his  most  skilful 
combinations.  And  instead  of  taking  the  blame  on  himself,  he  cast  it 
on  the  wayward  course  of  events,  as  if  human  skill  does  not  precisely 
consist  in  directing  events,  or,  at  any  rate,  in  turning  them  to  profit. 
The  doctor  had  dreamed  of  wealth  and  glory,  and  wealth  and  glory 
seemed  to  shun  him.  His  name  was  still  unknown,  and  his  best  patient 
was  a  retired  druggist  who,  since  he  lived  in  the  suburbs  and  inhaled 
pure  air— so  unlike  the  intoxicating  stenches  of  his  shop — was  quite 
unable  to  breathe.  By  degrees,  Lorilleux's  character  had  become  most 
acrimonious.  His  complexion  had  assumed  that  bilious  tint  which  is  the 
outward  sign  of  envy.  He  had  grown  tyrannical,  susceptible,  and 
impatient.  He  always  looked  at  things  in  their  worst  light,  and  no 
longer  concealed  his  hatred  and  contempt  of  mankind.  On  all  sides  he 
fancied  he  could  detect  tricksters  and  adventurers  who  were  more  skilful 
than  himself,  and  he  deplored  that  his  own  powers  of  cunning  were 
limited.  Yet  another  worry,  moreover,  disturbed  his  sleep  and  clouded 
his  brow  :  Pascal  was  decidedly  growing  very  rich.  This  wealth  which 
had  come  to  the  young  engineer  so  rapidly  had  belied  all  Lorilleux's 
previsions,  and  now  it  made  him  very  nervous  for  the  future.  Might  it 
not  prove  an  obstacle  as  regards  the  realisation  of  his  plans  ?  Would 
Pascal  prove  as  disinterested,  now  that  he  enjoyed  a  large  income,  as 
when  he  only  had  distant  "expectations"  to  count  upon?  When 
success  attended  each  of  the  young  engineer's  earlier  speculations,  the 
doctor  had  rubbed  his  hands  with  delight ;  thinking  of  the  good  fortune 
in  store  for  his  sister ;  but  now  he  actually  began  to  hope  that  some 
misadventure  would  occur  and  diminish  Pascal's  growing  wealth.  He 
bitterly  regretted  having  delayed  the  execution  of  his  plans  so  long,  and 
realised  that  he  must  now  unmask  his  batteries  ;  not,  however,  in 
precipitate  fashion,  but  with  all  proper  care  and  prudence. 

Unmask  is  the  right  word.  No  one  in  the  world  was  acquainted  with 
Lorilleux's  intentions ;  he  hid  not  taken  even  his  mother  into  his 
confidence,  and  his  sister,  like  his  friend,  was  equally  ignorant  of  the 
design — matured  with  such  profound  diplomacy  during  fourteen  long 
years.     What  a  design  it  was  !     The  dream  ol  a  whole  lifetime  !    With 


82  THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

a  prudence  above  his  years,  Lorilleux  had  carefully  abstained  from 
allowing  Pascal  to  become  intimate  with  his  sister.  He  knew  well  enough 
that  young  people  who  grow  up  together  seldom  end  by  marrying  each 
Other.  Youthful  intercourse  leads  (as  a  rule)  merely  to  true  fraternal 
friendship,  and  it  was  not  this  that  the  doctor  wanted.  Thanks  to  his 
precautions,  Pascal  and  Mademoiselle  Lorilleux  had  only  just  caught  a 
glimpse  of  one  another  on  rare  occasions,  prepared  with  infinite  art 
and  dexterity  They  had  certainly  not  spoken  to  each  other  a  dozen 
times. 

Now,  however,  they  must  be  brought  into  contact — a  serious  matter, 
indeed,  although  to  Lorilleux's  idea  most  difficulties  had  been  smoothed 
down,  and  there  was  but  one  possible  obstacle  :  his  friend's  accursed 
fortune.  Pascal  was  now  on  the  point  of  reaching  his  thirtieth  year, 
and  was  endowed  with  all  those  outward  qualifications  which  please  the 
feminine  heart.  On  her  side,  Mademoiselle  Lorilleux  was  just  eighteen  ; 
she  was  a  pretty  brunette,  with  a  graceful  and  distinguished  air.  Thanks 
to  her  brother,  she  had  obtained  a  far  more  serious  education  than 
usually  falls  to  a  woman's  lot,  and  yet  she  was  far  from  being  what  is 
usually  called  a  strong-minded  woman.  Indeed,  her  nature  was  soft  and 
pliable,  and  she  was  happily  deficient  in  a  will  of  her  own — her  rigid, 
far-seeing  brother  having  ingeniously  nipped  such  feminine  obstinacy  as 
she  might  perhaps  have  developed  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  when 
it  was  but  in  the  bud  ;  behaving,  indeed,  most  tyrannically,  but  not  so 
mucli  for  the  pleasure  of  exercising  his  authority  as  with  the  view  of 
preparing  her  future  happiness,  when  she  would  find  herself  under  a 
yoke  less  hard  to  bear  than  his.  When  the  doctor  thought  of  his  friend 
Pascal — the  object  of  his  constant  solicitude,  and  this  dear  sister — the 
apple  of  his  eye,  he  could  not  refrain  from  congratulating  himself  on  his 
work  ;  so  fitted  did  he  find  them  for  each  other.  He  united  them  in 
fancy,  and  pictured,  in  glowing  tints,  their  household  happiness,  which 
he  meant  to  be  his  sole  reward. 

Having  determined  to  bring  matters  to  a  climax,  Lorilleux  decided 
that  to  effect  the  marriage  he  was  bent  upon,  he  must  begin  by  instilling 
ideas  of  matrimoniaJ  felicity  in  Pascal's  mind.  This  was  a  question  of 
time,  and  it  so  happened  that  the  doctor's  preparatory  labour  was  greatly 
assisted  by  two  powerful  (although  unknown)  allies.  Madame  Divorne 
had  found  an  heiress  according  to  her  heart,  and  was  anxious  that  her 
trouble  should  not  be  thrown  away.  In  each  letter  she  wrote,  therefore, 
she  sounded  the  praises  of  the  Breton  beauty  she  had  discovered,  and 
invariably  wound  up  with  some  delicate  allusion  to  matrimony.  On 
his  side,  Jean  Lantier — like  a  tradesman  anxious  to  dispose  of  his  wares 
— incessantly  repeated  that  it  was  "not  good  for  man  to  live  alone," 
especially  as  the  world  was  replete  with  charming  girls  who  had  received 
the  best  of  educations  in  the  most  renowned  "  academies  "  of  Paris — 
those  model  schools  where  the  least  intelligent  of  the  pupils  speedily 
learn  how  to  make  three  toilets  a-day  at  the  minimum.  However, 
neither  Lantier  nor  Madame  Divorne  had  such  frequent  opportunities  of 
influencing  Pascal  as  Lorilleux,  who,  with  the  view  of  converting  his 
friend,  now  resorted  to  a  somewhat  ingenious  stratagem.  He  pretended 
to  be  himself  afflicted  with  a  great  desire  to  enter  the  holy  state  of 
matrimony  ;  and,  thanks  to  this  ruse,  he  had  a  clear  field  before  him, 


THE!   MATRIMONIAL  AMBASSADOR.  83 

for  his  insinuations  were  divested  of  all  suspicious  character,  and  became, 
as  it  were,  the  outpourings  of  confiding  friendship. 

How  cleverly  he  described  the  bitterness  of  solitude,  and  the  loneliness 
of  celibacy  !  How  enthusiastically  he  sang  the  joys  of  Hymen,  and  the 
chaste  happiness  shared  by  sympathetic  hearts,  whose  union  has  been 
sanctified  by  the  Church  and  recognised  by  the  State  !  Then,  in  due 
course,  he  detailed  at  length  the  reasons  that  had  determined  him  to 
turn  his  eyes,  at  his  age,  towards  matrimony,  as  the  haven  of  life.  A 
man  ought  to  marry  whilst  he  is  still  young.  It  is  folly  to  wait  till  we 
are  going  down  the  hill,  before  seeking  a  companion  for  the  journey. 
Scandalous  indeed  is  the  conduct  of  those  worn-out  debauchees,  who 
look  to  matrimony  for  a  nurse  rather  than  for  a  wife  !  The  chaste  young 
girl  whom  they  lead  to  the  altar  brings  them  treasures  of  youth  and 
virtue  ;  but  on  their  side,  what  have  they  to  offer  ?  A  frigid  heart,  in 
which  the  fire  of  youth  has  long  since  burnt  to  cinders,  a  depraved  and 
vitiated  imagination,  a  worn-out  frame — ruins  and  remnants  of  all  kinds. 
And  under  such  circumstances,  have  they  any  right  to  complain  of  what 
is  so  frequently  their  after-fate  ?  Ah  !  their  households  often  present  a 
sorry  sight,  indeed,  but  a  twelvemonth  after  marriage.  In  England, 
in  America,  and  in  Germany,  folks  are  far  more  sensible.  There,  at 
least,  a  man  marries  the  woman  he  loves,  and  marries  her  for  herself. 
He  is  not  guided  by  those  shameful  considerations  which  in  France 
transform  matrimony  into  a  mere  monetary  sy  eculation — a  simple  ques- 
tion of  figures  settled  by  the  notaries  of  the  contracting  parties.  No,  in 
those  happy  lands  suitors  have  a  soul  above  dowries  ;  and  so  each  pretty, 
amiable  girl  readily  finds  a  husband,  no  matter  whether  she  be  rich  or 
poor.  It  is  merely  the  plain  faces  that  have  to  resign  themselves  to 
singleness,  and  then  only  in  the  event  of  their  having  no  good  qualities 
to  make  amends  for  their  lack  of  comeliness. 

This  is  how  Lorilleux  talked  to  Pascal  with  all  the  eloquence  of  con- 
viction. He  contrived  to  present  these  ideas  in  some  new  form  well 
nigh  every  day.  He  waxed  almost  poetical  when  speaking  of  honeymoon 
bliss  ;  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  he  had  attentively  studied  the  well- 
known  and  ingenious  work  which,  after  making  the  reputation  and 
fortune  of  M.  Legouve  the  elder,  contributed  no  little  to  the  literary 
success  and  renown  of  M.  Legouv6  the  younger. 

However,  Pascal  lent  but  an  indifferent  ear  to  all  this  talk.  When 
Lorilleux  described  the  woman  of  his  dream  i — investing  her  precisely 
with  his  sister's  charms  and  qualities — and  exclaimed,  "  It's  decided,  as 
soon  as  I  meet  such  a  woman  I'll  marry,"  Pascal  simply  replied,  "Do 
so,  my  dear  fellow,  by  all  means,  if  it's  to  your  liking." 

On  these  occasions  the  doctor  needed  great  strength  of  character  not 
to  retort,  ' '  Eh,  but  what  about  yourself  ?  " 

It  is  true  that  Pascal  had  once  or  twice  forestalled  this  question  which 
was  for  ever  hanging  on  Lorilleux's  lips.  "In  all  probability,"  said  he, 
"  I  shall  end  by  marrying  like  everybody  else,  but  I  am  young  enough 
to  wait  a  little  longer.  I  find  myself  very  happy  as  I  am,  and  a 
bachelor's  life  by  no  means  weighs  upon  me.  Besides,  now-a-days,  a 
wife  is  such  an  expensive  luxury,  and  although  I  have  already  been  so 
successful,  I  don't  consider  that  my  means  are  as  yet  sufficient  to 
warrant  such  extravagance.    A  man  must  be  really  wealthy  to  be  able 


84  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

to  choose  a  wife  and  not  a  dowry  ;  and  I  precisely  wish  to  select  my 
wife  quite  irrespective  of  pecuniary  considerations. " 

These  last  words  fairly  delighted  Lorilleux,  for  Pascal's  disinterested- 
ness was  at  all  events  some  set  off  against  his  nonchalance  ;  and  so  the 
doctor  invariably  greeted  his  friend's  declaration  with  the  sententious 
remark,  ' '  I  agree  with  you,  my  dear  fellow ;  a  wife  ought  to  owe 
everything  to  her  husband."  But  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  cursed 
the  women  whose  fault  it  was  that  men  opined,  "'A  wife  is  a  luxury, 
and  matrimony  is  only  compatible  with  wealth."  It  is  this  maxim  that 
peoples  the  convents.  The  misconduct  of  a  dozen  coquettes  is  the 
cause  of  a  hundred  girls  becoming  old  maids  ;  for  each  time  that  a  wife 
ruins  her  husband,  many  and  many  young  fellows  swear  to  live  and  die 
in  single  blessedness. 

However,  Lorilleux's  persistent  efforts  had  at  least  produced  one  good 
result.  His  assumed  desire  to  marry  had  become  a  favourite  topic  of 
conversation  among  the  friends  who  met  of  an  evening  in  Pascal's  rooms. 
He  had  sown  an  idea,  which  was  sprouting,  and  would  soon  bear  fruit. 
Things  often  follow  this  course  among  young  men  who  are  intimate.  It 
suffices  for  one  of  them  to  take  a  decision  for  all  the  others  to  follow  his 
example.  After  all,  it  is  but  the  old  story  of  Panurge  and  the  sheep. 
In  the  meanwhile,  pending  the  outcome  of  this  intrigue,  Lorilleux's 
friends  delighted  to  tease  him.  "  Doctor,"  said  one  of  them  "  I've  your 
affair.  A  charming  girl  with  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs 
and  expectations.  I  know  the  notary,  who  can  tell  you  all  about  her 
parents'  fortune." 

"  Lorilleux,"  interrupted  another  comrade.  "  Do  you  know,  as  I  was 
coming  along  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  this  afternoon,  I  saw  the  portrait  of  a 
most  lovely  girl  in  a  photographer's  window.  I'm  sure  she  would  suit 
you.     Suppose  you  go  and  ask  for  her  address." 

Contrary  to  his  previous  habits,  the  doctor  took  all  this  banter  most 
good  naturedly.  "  Oh,  you  have  all  of  you  some  one  to  propose  to  me, 
no  doubt,"  he  rejoined.  "  There  are  always  plenty  of  offers  for  a  man 
of  position  who  wishes  to  marry.  But  the  misfortune  generally  is  that 
if  he  suits  the  young  girls  who  are  presented  to  him,  they  don't  suit  him 
at  all  ! "  Whilst  he  spoke  in  this  supercilious  fashion,  the  artful  doctor 
was  thinking  to  himself,  "  Laugh,  my  fine  fellows,  laugh  as  much  as  you 
like  !  The  horsebreaker  brings  his  steed  if  necessary  a  thousand  times 
in  front  of  the  fence  which  has  to  be  leaped,  and  although  the  animal 
may  refuse  and  refuse  again  and  again,  he  invariably  finishes  by  taking 
the  jump.  And  you  shall  jump,  all  of  you,  though  where  you  fall  I 
scarcely  care  ;  but  Pascal  shall  jump  as  well,  and  I  must  see  that  he 
alights  in  safety." 

Lorilleux  had  carried  his  operations  to  this  uncertain  and  yet  promising 
point  when  one  evening,  whilst  he  and  several  others  were  smoking  and 
chatting  together  in  Pascal's  rooms,  a  friend,  who  had  been  dining  out, 
arrived  all  aglow  with  satisfaction  at  having  at  last  discovered,  so  he  said,  "A 
capital  match  for  our  difficult  doctor."  The  fact  is  that  this  young  fellow 
had  taken  Lorilleux  to  be  in  earnest,  and  had  asked  five  or  six  old  ladies 
of  his  acquaintance  to  search  for  some  marriageable  girl  with  a  pretty 
face  and  a  handsome  dowry.  The  quest  had  not  been  a  long  one,  ana 
now  he  came  to  ask  the  doctor  if  he  were  willing  to  be  introduced  to  the 


THB    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  85 

young  lady  who  had  been  found  for  him.  He  would  not  at  all  engage 
himself  by  simply  having  a  look  at  her. 

Lorilleux  listened  most  attentively  to  all  the  particulars  that  were 
given  him,  made  a  few  objections,  and  finished  by  refusing  the  prof- 
ferred  introduction. 

"  Upon  my  word!"  exclaimed  one  of  his  friends,  "the  doctor  is 
altogether  too  difficult  to  please.  We  shall  never  manage  to  marry  him. 
If  he  doesn't  wish  to  remain  a  bachelor  for  ever,  he  has  only  one  resource 
left  :  he  must  apply  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch,  the  providence  of 
would-be  husbands." 

Every  one  is  at  least  acquainted  by  name  with  the  mysterious  and 
eccentric  personage  who  styles  himself  "  the  Family  Ambassador,"  and 
glories  in  having  founded  what  he  calls  "  the  Matrimonial  Profession;" 
so  that  a  burst  of  laughter  greeted  the  sally  which  advised  Lorilleux  to 
apply  to  him  for  a  wife. 

But  the  doctor  remained  unmoved.  "And,  after  all,  why  shouldn't 
I  apply  to  M.  de  Saint-Roch  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  serious  tone.  "  Only  before 
doing  so  I  should  very  much  like  to  learn  if  he  has  really  ever  married 
any  one  in  the  course  of  his  career. " 

"You  presumptuous  fellow!"  cried  the  author  of  the  proposal. 
"Surely  you  don't  doubt  Saint-Roch's  word?  Haven't  you  ever  read  a 
newspaper  ?  You  have  only  to  look  at  the  first  that  comes  under  your 
hand,  and  you  will  be  edified  immediately.  From  time  to  time  the 
celebrated  ambassador  does  not  disdain  to  monopolise  the  back  pages  of 
all  the  leading  dailies.  He  informs  families  and  eligible  bachelors  that 
he  holds  at  their  disposal  an  extensive  choice  of  spinsters  and  widows, 
ranging  from  sixteen  to  sixty  years  of  age,  and  all  possessed  of  desirable 
social  gifts — wit,  beauty,  and  birth — with  dowries  of  one  or  two  millions 
of  francs  a-piece  !  " 

"Oh!  I  know  all  that  well  enough,"  rejoined  Lorilleux.  "I  have 
read  that  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch  is  honoured  with  the  confidence  of  the 
first  families  of  the  nobility,  the  bench,  the  army,  and  the  financial 
world.  I  have  read  that  the  princely  houses  of  Europe  are  in  the  habit 
of  utilising  his  services,  and  I  know  that  in  communicating  with  him  it 
is  requisite  that  all  applicants  should  write  their  names  and  addresses 
legibly  ;  but  all  this  has  failed  to  convince  me,  and  so  I  return  to  my 
question  :  Has  he  ever  really  married  any  one  ?  " 

' '  But,  doctor,  don't  you  know  that  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  matri- 
monial agencies  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  there  are  ;  but,  after  all,  what  does  that  prove  ? " 

•'  Why,  that  they  wouldn't  keep  open  if  they  hadn't  a  fair  number  of 
customers." 

"  But,  dear  me,  I've  often  seen  shops  that  never  do  any  business." 

"  So  you  think,  then,  that  the  inventor  of  the  '  Matrimonial  Profession  ' 
spends  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  francs  a-year  in  advertising  merely 
to  amuse  himself — simply  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  own  name 
in  print  above  a  self -laudatory  prospectus  ? " 

This  remark  seemed  convincing  to  Lorilleux,  and  he  acknowledged  his 
defeat.  However,  the  conversation  continued.  Admitting  that  Monsieur 
de  Saint-Roch  did  marry  people,  who  were  his  usual  customers  ?  What 
class  did  they  belong  to  ?    How  did  the  "  Matrimonial  Ambassador  "  go 


86  THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOB. 

to  work?  What  was  his  system  ?  Such  were  the  questions  that  Pascal's 
friends  asked  each  other,  without  being  able  to  answer  any  one  of  them. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  at  length  observed  one  young  fellow,  "let  me 
make  a  confession.  Do  you  know  that  more  than  a  dozen  times  I  have 
really  thought  of  writing  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  You  don't  mean  it !  "  ejaculated  Lorilleux.  "  What 
object  could  you  have  had  in  doing  so  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  was  merely  influenced  by  curiosity." 

"I've  had  the  same  idea,"  exclaimed  Pascal.  "There  is  something 
mysterious  about  the  man.     He  fairly  puzzles  me." 

"  Biit  if  that's  the  case,"  objected  the  doctor,  "  you  oughtn't  to  write 
to  him — you  ought  to  call  on  him." 

"Ay,"  remarked  one  of  the  friends,  "that  would  be  much  more 
interesting  and  instructive." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  resumed  Pascal,  with  a  laugh.  "  As  such  is  the 
case,  I'll  satisfy  your  curiosity  and  mine  at  the  same  time.  Upon  my 
word,  I'll  pay  this  mysterious  man  a  visit." 

Forgetful  of  what  he  had  said  a  moment  before,  Lorilleux  made  a 
gesture  of  vexation.  "  That's  a  fine  project,"  he  exclaimed,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.     "  I  recognise  you  there  all  over,  Pascal." 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  go  ?  "  asked  the  young 
engineer,  in  all  simplicity. 

"Oh,  no — not  at  all.  Goby  all  means,  if  it  amuses  you.  Only,  1 
scarcely  think  that  it  is  becoming  to  call  on  a  man  with  the  express 
object  of  turning  him  to  ridicule.  Such  childishness  is  scarcely  in 
keeping  with  our  age." 

The  doctor  could  say  no  more,  for  the  others  loudly  denounced  him  as 
a  "spoil  fun."  "It's  agreed!"  they  cried.  "Pascal  shall  go  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery.  If  he's  satisfied  with  what  he  sees  and  hears,  why, 
we'll  all  of  us  give  our  custom  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch. 


V. 

The  founder  of  the  "  Matrimonial  Profession  "  resides  on  the  first  floor 
in  a  magnificent  house  at  the  corner  of  two  of  the  most  fashionable 
streets  of  the  Chausst5e  d'Antin.  His  spacious  apartment  counts  no 
fewer  than  sixteen  front  windows,  embellished  with  remarkably  gorgeous 
curtains,  which,  when  viewed  from  outside,  convey  the  impression  that 
this  must  be  the  abode  of  some  extremely  wealthy  man.  The  choice  of 
the  house  denotes  a  master  mind.  There  are  two  main  entrances, 
approached  by  two  different  streets.  Two  separate  grand  staircases 
conduct  to  the  "  Ambassador's  "  dwelling  ;  and  after  a  little  search  ons 
can  indeed  find  a  servant's  staircase  and  a  dark  passage  communicating 
with  even  a  third  thoroughfare. 

In  his  advertisements,  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch  lays  especial  stress 
upon  these  three  approaches — which,  he  declares,  enable  his  clients  to 
call  upon  him  "incognito."  There  is  no  misplaced  pride  about  the 
"Ambassador."  He  is  by  no  means  anxious  that  his  visitors  should 
herald  their  approach  by  sound  of  trumpet  or  qf  drum.  As  an  excuse 
Or  a  pretext  for  their  presence  in  the  house,  his  masculine  clients  cap 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  87 

avail  themsehes  of  the  fact  that  a  banker  resides  oh  the  second  floor  ; 
whilst,  for  the  convenience  of  those  of  the  fairer  sex,  a  fashionable  dress- 
maker has  her  salons  on  the  third  storey.  This  mysterious  house  has 
no  doubt  at  least  two  doorkeepers — for  there  are  two  main  entrances — 
and  yet  no  visitor  has  ever  caught  sight  of  one.  No  inquisitive  eyes 
measure  you  from  head  to  foot  as  you  pass  in  or  out  ;  no  querulous 
voice  ever  inquires,  "Eh,  where  are  you  going?"  Such  a  question, 
point  blank,  might  at  times  greatly  embarass  the  visitor.  Matters  are 
therefore  managed  differently.  So  as  to  dispense  with  all  inquiries  and 
directions,  viva  voce,  the  walls  are  ingeniously  decorated  with  inscrip- 
tions which  conduct  the  stranger  wherever  he  may  be  bound — whether 
to  the  banker,  the  dressmaker,  or  the  Matrimonial  Ambassador.  These 
directions,  indited  in  gilt  letters  on  a  black  ground,  are  most  precise, 
so  that  no  mistake  can  possibly  be  made.  You  may  enter  the  house  as 
if  it  were  your  own,  and  indeed  this  is  how  Pascal  entered  it  one  morn- 
ing shortly  after  the  conversation  we  have  just  recorded.  Guided  by 
the  inscriptions,  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  first  landing,  where  he 
found  three  doors,  on  each  of  which  figured  a  glittering  brass  plate, 
bearing  the  Matrimonial  Ambassador's  name. 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  rang  at  the  door  nearest  to  him. 
The  vibration  of  the  bell  had  scarcely  died  away  when  the  portal 
opened,  and  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  superb  lackey,  whose 
livery  was  as  resplendent  as  the  costume  of  a  cathedral  beadle. 
"  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch  ? "  asked  Pascal. 

"  If  monsieur  will  take  the  trouble  to  follow  me,"  respectfully 
answered  the  lackey,  "I  will  shew  him  the  way  in."  And  raising  a 
damask  door  curtain,  he  preceded  Pascal  into  a  passage,  carpeted  with 
velvet  pile,  and  lighted  by  windows  fitted  with  dull  glass.  Pascal 
laughed  to  himself  as  he  walked  on.  He  was  thinking  of  the  advertise- 
ments which  depicted  the  Ambassador's  dwelling  as  a  most  fantastic 
abode,  with  mysterious  entrances,  secret  staircases,  and  dark  passages. 
"  For  the  tout  ensemble  to  be  perfect,"  thought  he,  "the  servants  ought 
to  be  deaf  and  dumb." 

At  this  moment  the  footman  shewed  him  into  a  little  salon  hung  with 
pale  lilac  reps,  and  remarked,  "  If  monsieur  will  take  the  trouble  to  sit 
down,  I  will  acquaint  my  master  with  his  arrival."  So  saying,  he 
touched  a  little  alarum  placed  on  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  so 
that  it  sounded  three  times. 

"  Shall  I  have  long  to  wait  ?  "  asked  Pascal. 

"  This  alarum  informs  my  master  that  monsieur  is  waiting  for  him  in 
the  lilac  drawing-room,"  answered  the  servant  with  a  bow.  "My 
master  will  speedily  join  monsieur."  And  then  with  yet  another  bow, 
the  lackey  discreetly  withdrew,  noiselessly  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  The  d e,"  thought  Pascal,  "  it  seems  there  are  drawing-rooms  of 

all  manner  of  colours  here  !     Well,  let's  have  a  look  at  this  one." 

To  say  the  truth,  this  lilac  drawing-room  was  a  little  marvel  of  garish 
ostentation  and  bad  taste.  Everything  therein  was  gilded,  from  the 
mouldings  of  the  ceiling  to  the  arms  of  the  chairs.  There  was  a  great 
display  of  Berlin  wool-work  on  the  backs  of  the  settees,  and  the  figured 
carpet  representing  Madame  de  Pompadour  at  her  toilette  (or  something 
of  the  kind,  the  designer  of  the  cartoon,  alone,  could  speak  with  exacti- 


88  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

tude)  was  as  grotesque  as  such  things  usually  are.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  a  motley  collection  of  paintings  and  engravings  ;  and  four  or  five 
4tageres,  together  with  the  tables  and  the  mantel-shelf,  were  crowded 
with  innumerable  knick-knacks  and  bric-a-brac  in  bronze,  plaster, 
marble,  china,  carved  wood,  and  so  on,  the  collection  being  as  miscel- 
laneous as  that  of  a  curiosity  shop.  Among  the  lot  there  was  perhaps 
one  good  painting,  with  two  or  three  others  of  tolerable  merit,  and  a  few 
decent  bronzes  from  Barbedienne's  ;  but  all  the  rest  was  simply  vile. 
Such  daubs  and  smudges — such  ignorance  of  drawing  and  perspective  ; 
and  among  the  statuettes,  such  a  lack  of  proportion,  symmetry,  and 
grace  ! 

Pascal  went  from  one  object  to  another — bewildered  by  their  wonder' 
ful  variety  and  disgusted  by  their  glaring  defects.  There  was  an 
inscription  to  each  of  them.  "  To  our  good  friend  "  might  be  read  on 
one  ;  "  To  the  author  of  my  happiness  "  appeared  on  a  second  ;  while 
a  third  bore  the  words,  "  From  a  happy  mother, "  and  a  fourth  announced 
itself  as  a  "Token  of  priceless  gratitude."  These  objects  of  art  were 
therefore  gifts ;  but  who  could  they  have  come  from  ?  With  this  ques- 
tion on  his  lips,  Pascal  continued  his  scrutiny,  pausing  at  last  in  front 
of  the  timepiece  on  the  mantel-shelf.  Here  his  amazement  reached  a 
climax,  for  above  the  dial  appeared  a  chubby  Cupid  blowing  over  a 
lighted  brasier,  whilst  on  a  highly  ornamental  scroll  the  following 
inscription  was  engraved  : — "  Thus  shall  our  flame  be  fanned  by  Love. 

As  Pascal  stood  in  front  of  this  enigmatical  timepiece,  lost  in  astonish- 
ment and  conjecture,  he  heard  a  door  behind  him  softly  open,  and  on 
turning  round  he  perceived  the  Matrimonial  Ambassador  in  person 
crossing  the  threshold  of  the  room.  M.  de  Saint-Roch  was  a  plump 
little  man,  with  a  remarkably  fresh  complexion — all  the  lilies  and  roses 
which  perfumers  sell  in  pots  and  flasks  blooming  most  vividly  on  his 
clean-shaven  cheeks.  Between  his  parted  lips  one  could  detect  a  double 
row  of  poarl-like  teeth — perfect  chefs  d'ceuvre  of  the  dental  art— and  his 
eyes  were  as  gay  and  as  soft  as  a  madrigal.  His  whole  person,  moreover, 
exhaled  the  most  penetrating  perfumes,  musk  and  opopanax,  bergamot 
and  ottar  of  roses,  being  blended  as  it  were  into  one  powerful  emanation, 
so  that  he  positively  seemed  to  be  a  peripatetic  sachet  or  scent-bag.  His 
movements  and  gestures  were,  for  juvenile  grace  and  affectation,  well 
worthy  of  one  of  Wattean's  shepherds,  and  Vestris  herself  would  have 
admired  the  manner  in  which  he  stretched  his  leg.  His  waistcoat  was 
a  souvenir  of  the  first  Empire  ;  and  his  dress  coat,  of  the  once  fashionable 
blue-bell  shade,  with  long-pointed  tails  and  richly  chased  gilt  buttons, 
seemed  as  it  were  a  relic  of  bygone  elegance.  Breeches  would  have  been 
the  right  accompaniment  to  such  a  coat,  but  the  Ambassador  (no  doubt 
through  fear  of  being  taken  for  a  footman)  had  with  a  pang  resigned 
himself  to  wearing  trousers.  His  feet,  scarcely  as  small  as  his  aristo- 
cratic cognomen  demanded,  were  encased  in  sealskin  shoes,  ornamented 
with  diamond  buckles,  while  his  flabby,  hairy  hands  were  half-hidden 
by  ruffles  of  Malines  lace.  To  all  appearance,  he  was  passionately  fond 
of  jewellery.  He  scintillated  like  the  sky  on  a  clear  frosty  December 
night.  Rings  upon  rings  encircled  his  fingers,  a  huge  diamond  pin  fixed 
his  neck-cloth,  and  party-coloured  studs  well  nigh  as  large  as  brooches 
glittered  beside  his  shirt-frill.     A  couple  of  gold  chains  begirded  his 


THK   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR  89 

neck,  and  a  third  encompassed  the  front  of  his  waistcoat,  for  the 
Ambassador,  be  it  noted,  never  wears  fewer  than  three  watches  at  the 
same  time.  The  trinkets  appended  to  the  chains  formed  quite  a  museum 
of  themselves.  It  is  true  that  "His  Excellency"  did  not  wear  earrings, 
but  his  curly  flaxen  wig  was  in  its  way  a  perfect  poem.  In  this  radiant 
style  did  he  appear  on  the  threshold  of  the  lilac  drawing-room  to  the 
wondering  eyes  of  Pascal  Divorne. 

The  Ambassador  did  not  seem  over  proud  of  the  impression  he  created. 
His  vanity  was  no  doubt  quite  blast  in  this  respect  ;  but  as  his  new 
client's  surprise  seemed  very  like  excessive  timidity,  he  set  about  reas- 
suring him,  and  remarked,  with  a  river-like  ripple  in  his  tone,  "  I  sea 
that  you  are  examining  my  poor  votive  offerings,  monsieur." 

"  Votive  offerings  !  "  ejaculated  Pascal  in  utter  amazement. 

"I  employ  that  expression,"  rejoined  the  illustrious  negotiator,  "be- 
cause all  the  objects  you  see  here  have  been  offered  me  by  grateful 
clients.  Fair  hands  worked  the  tapestry  of  these  arm-chairs  for  me, 
and  I  look  on  those  bronzes  and  paintings  as  tokens  of  imperishable 
recollections. " 

Pascal  bowed.     Words  failed  him  to  express  his  astonishment. 

"I  love  to  surround  myself  with  these  pious  gifts,"  continued  the 
Matrimonial  Ambassador.  "  They  constitute  my  dearest  treasure,  the 
recompense  I  prize  the  most.  Those  which  you  see  here  are  but  a  few 
out  of  the  many,  for  I  have  seven  other  drawing-rooms  which  are  equally 
replete." 

' '  I  conclude  that  you  must  have  married  a  very  great  many  people 
in  your  time,  monsieur,"  remarked  Pascal. 

"About  one-third  of  Prance,"  replied  M.  de  Saint-Roch,  with  a 
modest  air.  "  A  good  many  folks  are  unaware  of  all  they  owe  to  my 
services.     Many  have  forgotten  me." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  it  is  so."  And  the  Ambassador  heaved  a  despondent 
sigh.  "  Ah  !  I  have  had  to  deal  with  many  ungrateful  people.  Would 
you  believe  it  ?  Some  years  ago  the  purity  of  my  intentions  was 
questioned,  and  actions  were  brought  against  me.  But  solemn  judg- 
ments were  recorded  in  my  favour,  and  I  have  had  them  printed,  together 
with  the  speeches  of  ten  advocates,  who,  at  various  periods,  pleaded  for 
me.  I  have  the  written  opinions  of  some  of  the  greatest  jurisconsults  in 
France  confirming  the  morality  and  legality  of  my  profession.  I  have 
also.  .    But  after  all  are  not  the   presents  you  see   here  eloquent 

arguments  on  my  behalf — do  they  not  furnish  a  convincing  proof  of  the 
services  I  have  rendered  to  mankind  1" 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  interrupted  Pascal,  "believe  me,  I  never  had  any 
idea  of 'questioning  your  honour." 

But  M.  de  Saint-Roch  scarcely  seemed  to  hear  him.  "  Fortunately, 
said  he,  "  there  are  not  merely  ungrateful  folks  in  the  world.  That  little 
group  which  you  see  there  on  the  left  was  sent  me  this  very  morning  by 
a  young  couple  I  married  last  year.  That  painting  on  the  right  comes 
from  two  other  clients,  whose  union  I  negotiated  four  years  ago.  Ah  ! 
I  am  very  pleased  indeed  with  them.  They  have  already  five  children, 
and  I  have  been  chosen  as  the  godfather  of  the  last  one — a  little  girl, 
born  a  im  days  ago.    Yea,  I  sim  fcappj  to  say  there  $,re  etjU  mjmf 


90  THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

wives  and  husbands  who  have  kept  me  a  corner-place  in  their  hearts. 
They  write  to  me  and  inform  me  of  all  the  good  fortune  that  befalls 
them,  and  should  a  little  cloud  darken  their  life,  should  there  be  any 
passing  dispute  between  them,  they  submit  the  matter  to  my  arbitra- 
tion, and  I  soon  succeed  in  bringing  them  to  peace." 

"  That  redounds  greatly  to  your  credit,  monsieur,"  observed  Pascal. 

"Ah  !"  rejoined  the  Ambassador,  "Ah  !  if  time  were  not  so  short,  my 
ambition  would  be,  not  merely  to  ignite  the  torch  of  Hymen,  but  to 
keep  it  burning  with  a  pure  brilliant  flame  !  I  should  like  to  establish 
an  Insurance  Company,  so  that  young  husbands  and  young  wives  might 
insure  themselves  against  all  matrimonial  tiffs  and  squabbles.  The  con- 
flicting parties  would  have  to  lay  their  little  complaints  before  a  mixed 
jury,  composed  of  persons  of  either  sex,  and  after  due  judgment,  skilful 
negotiators  would  have  to  bring  the  erring  wife  or  husband  to  reason. 
But  excuse  me,  I  am  trespassing  on  your  time,  monsieur.  Will  you  do 
me  the  favour  to  walk  into  my  private  room."  So  saying,  the  Ambas- 
sador drew  aside  with  a  dancing-master's  flexible  grace,  and  motioned 
Pascal  towards  the  door. 

M.  de  Saint-Roch's  sanctum  is  like  most  other  private  rooms  devoted 
to  the  transaction  of  business,  and  were  it  not  for  the  absence  of  dust 
and  cobwebs,  a  solicitor  would  find  himself  quite  at  home  therein.  The 
Ambassador's  servants,  be  it  noted,  are  the  sworn  enemies  of  all  other 
spiders  but  their  master,  and  they  are  moreover  most  expert  with  their 
feather  brooms,  in  dusting  the  ornamental  cardboard  boxes  which 
garnish  the  innumerable  pigeon-holes  running  right  rouad  the  room. 

The  negotiator  condescended  to  advance  an  arm  chair  for  Pascal's 
accommodation,  and  then  seated  himself  at  a  large  work-table,  covered 
with  files  and  bundles  of  papers  duly  secured  with  red  tape. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Pascal,  "  I  have  ventured  to  call  upon  you  because 
I  desire  to  marry  and  wish  to  find  a  suitable  wife." 

"  Very  good,  monsieur;  good,  very  good  !  "  ejaculated  M.  de  Saint- 
Roch.  "You  have  had  a  happy  inspiration.  Marriage,  monsieur,  is 
the  real  object  of  life.  I  have  a  right  to  say  so,  for  am  I  not  the 
renovator  of  matrimonial  institutions  ?  I  have  reminded  man  of  the 
scriptural  command  which  bids  him  take  a  wife.  If  I  am  not  a  father 
of  a  family  myself,  it  is  because  the  sacred  functions  of  my  ministry 
compel  me  to  remain  a  bachelor.  Like  a  confessor,  I  am  forced  to  vow 
myself  to  celibacy.  I  am  acquainted  with  so  many  secrets  which  I 
must  preserve  intact,  and  we  know  that  a  loving  husband  can  scarcely 
keep  a  secret  from  his  wife.  Had  I  married,  I  might  have  divulged  some 
mystery  amid  the  outpourings  of  love,  and  the  consequences  might  have 
proved  disastrous  for  my  clients.  But  I  have  remained  a  bachelor,  and 
my  only  confidants  are  my  own  heart  and  mind." 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  have  perfect  trust  in  you." 

"  '  Loyalty  and  Discretion,'  such  is  my  motto  !  Ah  1  you  have  acted 
rightly,  and  no  mistake,  in  applying  to  me.  How  are  marriages  usually 
arranged  in  society  ?  Of  course  there  are  a  few  exceptional  cases,  but 
in  the  vast  majority  of  instances  chance  does  usually  all  the  work,  or 
else  you  are  married  off-hand,  by  some  relative,  friend,  or  mere  acquaint- 
ance. Old  women  are  inveterate  match-makers,  and  their  competi- 
tion is  most  disloyal !    What  guarantee  do  these  marriages — arranged 


THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  91 

in  society — offer  ?  How  far  are  the  positions  of  the  contracting  parties 
controlled  ?  You  are  all  confidence,  and  you  walk  to  the  altar  with 
closed  eyes.  If  you  are  over  delicate,  or  over  generous,  a  little  too 
pliable,  or  a  trifle  weak  minded,  you  may  be  sure  that  your  failing  will 
be  turned  to  account.  For  instance,  to  begin  with,  you  are  promised  a 
mountain  of  gold,  and  at  the  last  moment  you  learn  that  you  will  receive 
nothing  at  all !  However,  you  have  engaged  your  word,  false  shame 
holds  you  back  ;  and  although  furious  at  heart,  you  are  afraid  of  public 
scandal.  As  you  lack  the  necessary  energy  to  say  '  No  '  and  break  off 
the  match,  you  finally  bow  your  head  and  submit  to  the  deceit." 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  Pascal  with  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

"Ob,  I  know  that  there  are  exceptions,"  replied  M.  de  Saint-Roch. 
"But  the  point  that  I  wish  to  establish  is  that  I,  myself,  neither  take 
people  by  surprise  nor  deceive  thern.  You  may  have  all  the  papers  and 
documents  I  furnish,  verified  by  your  own  notary,  without  binding 
yourself  to  anything  whatever.  And  it  is  because  I  act  so  loyally,  so 
straightforwardly,  that  I  have  won  for  myself  such  a  high  immaculate 
reputation. " 

"  I  understand  that,"  rejoined  Pascal,  somewhat  impatiently.  "  But 
would  it  not  be  desirable  to  deal  with  my  business  at  once?  " 

"  Quite  so,  my  dear  client ;  but  it  was  as  well  that  I  should  give  you 
these  needful  explanations. " 

Thereupon  Pascal's  examination  began.  He  was  questioned  at  length 
concerning  his  name,  age,  profession,  parents,  residence,  fortune,  and 
character.  His  preferences  and  tastes  were  carefully  inquired  into — ■ 
indeed,  no  essential  point  was  forgotten  ;  and  whilst  he  spoke  the 
negotiator  took  copious  notes  of  everything  he  said.  At  length  the 
interrogatory  came  to  a  close.  "  Well,  you  may  sleep  in  peace,  my  dear 
client,"  exclaimed  M.  de  Saint-Roch,  "I  shall  find  something  to  your 
measure  before  long." 

' '  What  ?  "  rej  oined  Pascal  in  surprise.  ' '  Before  long  1  But  I  thought 
it  would  be  at  once." 

For  just  half  a  minute  the  Ambassador  looked  extremely  shocked  ; 
and  then,  in  a  semi-jocular  tone,  he  remarked,  "Why,  what  a  hurry 
you  are  in  !  Ah,  boiling,  bubbling,  seething  youth  !  You  imagine  that 
a  marriage  can  be  concluded  like  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  I  thought  " 

"  You  thought  that  I  had  a  wife  all  ready  for  you  in  one  of  those 
cardboard  boxes.  But  come,  let  us  talk  seriously.  To-day  is  Thurs- 
day, so  call  again  on  Wednesday  ;  between  now  and  then  I  shall  have 
occupied  myself  about  you. " 

So  saying  M.  de  Saint-Roch  rose  to  his  feet  as  if  to  indicate  that  the 
audience  was  over  ;  and  at  the  same  moment  an  alarum  could  be  heard 
vibrating  in  an  adjoining  room.  "Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  Ambassador, 
"  some  one  is  waiting  for  me  in  the  pink  saloon." 

"Well,"  said  Pascal,  "I  will  return  on  Wednesday."  And  with  a 
bow  he  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  Not  that  way,  not  that  way  ! "  cried  the  illustrious  negotiator. 
,c  The  d — e  !  you  might  meet  some  one,  and  in  my  rooms  the  rule  is  that 
one  client  ought  never  to  meet  another.  The  house  is  so  arranged  to 
prevent  such  encounters.     Twenty  persons  might  call  on  me,  well-nigh 


92  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

at  the  same  moment,  and  each  of  them  would  fancy  he  was  alone. 
However,  come  this  way." 

He  thereupon  opened  a  door  cunningly  concealed  behind  a  stack  of 
pigeon-holes,  and  confided  Pascal  to  a  servant,  who  led  him  along  a  dark 
passage  to  a  side  street. 

That  same  evening  the  young  engineer  related  to  his  friends  the 
various  incidents  of  his  visit  to  the  Ambassador,  and  his  narrative  had 
a  very  great  success  indeed.  However,  it  was  unanimously  decided  that 
as  this  was  only  the  first  act,  Pascal  ought  to  return  to  the  Chaussee 
d'Antin  on  the  following  Wednesday,  so  as  to  see  what  would  come  of 
the  adventure.  Even  Lorilleux  expressed  this  opinion,  for  he  con- 
sidered that  the  Ambassador's  matrimonial  exhortations  would  serve  his 
own  cherished  purpose. 

Pascal  was  therefore  punctual  to  the  appointment.  On  this  second 
occasion  he  was  introduced  into  a  green  saloon,  decorated  after  precisely 
the  same  style  as  the  lilac  drawing-room.  He  had  no  occasion,  however, 
to  kill  time  in  scrutinising  the  "  votive  offerings,"  for  M.  de  Saint-Roch 
made  his  appearance  almost  immediately.  Judging  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  received  Pascal,  he  had  evidently  been  impatiently  expecting 
him. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  I've  been  thinking  of  you.  You  are  really  a  very 
worthy  young  man,  and  I  must  pay  you  all  my  compliments.  Why  are 
my  other  clients  not  like  you  ?  " 

"  Not  like  me  ?     What  is  the  difference,  pray  ?  " 

' '  Eh  ?  Why,  you  are  too  modest,  my  dear  sir.  You  did  not  tell  me 
that  you  were  so  well  off.  You  said  that  your  father  possessed  an  income 
of  ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  that  his  practice  would  perhaps  sell 
for  forty  thousand.  But  it  is  worth  more  than  twice  as  much,  and  his 
income  is  nearly  double  the  figure  you  gave  me.  His  farm  of  Kerpris 
alone  brings  in  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year.  And  besides,  he  has 
some  magnificent  timbered  land  near  Guingamp,  and  some  magnificent 
meadows  along  the  margin  of  the  Trieux." 

Pascal  was  fairly  astounded.  What,  this  man  knew  more  about  his 
family  affairs  than  he  knew  himself  !  How  could  M.  de  Saint-Roch 
have  obtained  this  information  ? 

"But  that  is  not  all,"  continued  the  founder  of  the  Matrimonial  Pro- 
fession. "  You  stated  that  your  own  private  fortune  amounted  to  three 
hundred  thousand  francs,  but  you  possess  more  than  that.  Your  friend, 
Dr.  Lorilleux,  goes  about  everywhere  saying  you  are  worth  twice  as 
much  ;  but  your  partner,  M.  Lantier,  fixes  the  right  figure  at  four 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand." 

"  How  do  you  know  all  that,  monsieur?  "  asked  Pascal  with  mingled 
wonder  and  impatience. 

"  Eh,  eh  !  "  replied  M.  de  Saint-Roch  with  a  laugh.  "  Why,  I  have 
made  inquiries,  of  course. " 

"Inquiries,  indeed  !  " 

"Oh!  don't  get  angry.  But  come,  tell  me,  did  you  imagine  that  I 
marry  people  without  knowing  anything  about  them  ?  That  would  be 
nice  work  indeed  !  But  no,  let  me  tell  you,  I  acquaint  myself  fully  with 
everything  that  has  befallen  my  clients  since  their  birth.  I  am  better 
acquainted  with  your  career  than  even  your  best  friend  is — and  if  I  am 


THE    MATBIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  yd 

not  mistaken  your  best  friend  is  none  other  than  Dr.  Lorilleux,  who 
prides  himself  so  much  on  his  knowledge.  For  instance,  I  can  tell  you 
something  which  you  hid  from  him  most  jealously,  which  he  tried  to 
discover  over  and  over  again  with  no  result — in  one  word,  I  know  why 
you  resigned  your  position  in  the  State  service  some  six  years  ago." 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  I  fancy  not." 

"You  fancy  not,  indeed  !  Well,  let  me  tell  you.  You  did  not  resign 
so  much  because  you  wished  to  go  into  partnership  with  M.  Lantier,  as 
because  you  wished  to  remain  in  Paris.  You  knew  that  if  you  remained 
in  the  State  service  you  would  be  appointed  to  a  provincial  post,  and 
you  were  anxious  to  stay  in  Paris  at  any  price.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  what  I  say  is  true.  There  was  a  secret 
little  love  affair — a  little  romance,  the  prologue  of  which  you  had  just 
been  sketching,  and,  according  to  what  I  have  learned,  you  were  desirous 
of  carrying  the  plot  a  trifle  further  — " 

Pascal  flushed  scarlet.  He  felt  almost  frightened.  "  Dear  me  ! " 
thought  he,  "  is  this  man  a  sorcerer  or  a  detective  from  the  Prefecture 
in  disguise  ?  "  He  already  regretted  his  visit  to  the  Ambassador,  and  it 
needed  but  little  more  to  make  him  positively  angry. 

"  However,  I  know  that  it  all  came  to  nothing,"  resumed  M.  de  Saint- 
Roch.  "  You  became  immersed  in  your  enterprise  with  M.  Lantier — 
the  romance  was  forgotten.  Besides — pray  don't  be  disturbed — this 
room  here  is  a  confessional  box,  as  it  were.  I  receive  my  information 
under  the  seal  of  secrecy.  The  responsibility  that  weighs  upon  me  is 
tremendous,  but  I  would  not  share  it  with  any  one  for  worlds.  You 
may  ask  how  it  is  I  have  never  thought  of  training  a  pupil  to  my 
profession  so  as  to  have  a  successor.  I  will  tell  you.  I  can  guarantee 
my  own  discretion  under  any  circumstance,  but  how  can  I  be  sure  that 
another  person  would  be  equally  discreet  ?  When  once  the  mysteries  of 
my  profession  were  revealed  to  him,  he  might  turn  them  to  some  ignoble 
use  ;  and  so  I  have  determined  to  carry  my  secrets  to  the  grave  with 
me.  My  office,  my  notes,  correspondence,  and  guarantees  will  all  be 
annihilated  at  my  death,  and  the  Matrimonial  Profession  will  subside 
once  more  into  infancy  and  obloquy." 

He  spoke  these  last  words  in  a  tone  of  deep  emotion,  and  his  painted 
face  wore  an  expression  of  positive  grief.  Pascal  did  not  know 
whether  he  ought  to  laugh  or  get  angry.  Was  the  Ambassador  a 
charlatan  or  a  man  of  convictions?  "What  an  actor!"  thought  the 
young  engineer. 

By  degrees,  M.  de  Saint-Roch's  lips  were  curved  once  more  into  their 
usual  smile.  "Now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  talk  of  yourself .  You  are  young, 
good-looking,  agreeable,  well-educated,  and  wealthy,  so  that  you  can  be 
easily  married.  The  affair  will  be  soon  concluded.  Now,  answer  me 
as  you  would  answer  your  confessor.  I  know  that  you  have  hitherto 
been  a  very  successful  speculator  ;  well,  do  you  mean  to  make  a  specu- 
lation of  your  marriage.     Are  you  anxious  for  a  very  large  dowry  ?  " 

"Money  is  a  very  nice  thing,"  answered  Pascal,  "and  certainly  I 
don't  under-rate  its  value ;  but  I  should  bike  to  marry  a  woman  I  could 
love." 

"  Yes,  you  are  in  the  right.  At  times  I  have  to  negotiate  matches 
which  are  mere  speculations,  but  I  only  do  so  with  reluctance  and  dis 


94:  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

taste.  Well,  we  will  say,  then,  a  fortune  on  a  par  with  your  own,  aild 
a  wife  capable  of  inspiring  affection." 

"  Yes,  those  are  my  views." 

M.  de  Saint- Roch  rose,  took  a  huge  register  from  an  adjoining  stand, 
and  laid  it  on  his  table.  "I  have  there,"  said  he,  "the  names  of  the 
richest  and  most  charming  heiresses  of  France  and  abroad,  with  full 
particulars  concerning  their  fortunes,  character,  and  appearance." 

Pascal  stepped  forward  to  glance  at  this  catalogue  of  the  moneyed 
belles  of  Europe. 

"  Oh,  you  may  look  !  "  exclaimed  the  Ambassador.  "You  will  not 
understand  anything.  All  my  registers  are  written  in  hieroglyphical 
characters,  invented  by  myself,  and  which  I  alone  can  decipher." 

Whilst  speaking,  he  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume.  "  Fifteen 
hundred  thousand  francs!"  he  remarked.  "That's  too  much.  One 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Not  enough.  Ah  !  here — but  no,  the  husband 
must  be  a  nobleman — a  baron  at  the  very  least  ;  and  here,  again,  he 
must  be  a  military  man.  How  singular  some  parents  are  in  their  tastes  ! 
Ah  !  here,  perhaps  :  a  million  francs  in  cash — a  widow,  fifty-three  years 
old.     .     ." 

"Much  obliged,"  exclaimed  Pascal,  with  a  laugh.  "I  should  like 
something  rather  younger." 

' '  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  Let  us  look  further  on.  Here  the  husband 
must  be  competent  to  carry  on  the  business  of  his  wife's  father,  at  a 
factory  in  the  provinces.  Here  is  a  young  lady  who  makes  a  special 
condition  that  her  husband  sha'n't  smoke.  She  is  very  exacting,  and 
she  has  no  dowry  worth  speaking  of.  Here  is  another,  who  wishes  her 
husband  to  be  fair,  and  unfortunately  you  are  dark.  What  a  pity  !  for 
she  has  a  fine  fortune.  Ah  !  here  is  one  of  my  best  clients — a  widow. 
She  has  already  been  married  three  times,  and  always  by  my  interven- 
tion ;  twenty-nine  years  of  age  ;  five  children.  " 

"  Oh  !  we  may  pass  her  by,"  interrupted  Pascal,  with  another  smile. 

"  Well,  perhaps  this  would  suit  you  :  two  hundred  thousand  francs  ; 
eighteen  years  of  age ;  excellent  education ;  highly  honourable 
family.     .      " 

"  Yes,  that  might  do." 

"  The  more  so  as  I  have  only  given  you  the  amount  of  the  '  money 
down,'  for  there  are  expectations — very  fine  expectations,  indeed.  The 
mother  is  rather  advanced  in  years  ;  she  is  always  in  very  bad  health — 
you  understand  ;  and  all  the  fortune  is  on  her  side.  As  for  the  young 
lady,  she  is  really  very  pretty,  tall,  well-proportioned,  and  fair-haired. 
To  tell  you  everything,  I  fancy  that  at  times  she  has  rather  a  hasty 
temper.  The  servants  never  remain  in  the  house  for  more  than  a  couple 
of  months." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  such  is  the  tenor  of  my  private  information;  and  of  course 
when  one  marries  it  is  for  rather  longer  than  a  couple  of  months.  In 
this  case,  moreover,  the  young  lady's  parents  wish  their  son-in-law  to 
reside  with  them." 

"Thank  you  all  the  same,  but  that  won't  do ;  and,  must  I  confess 
it,  I  should  prefer  a  brunette  to  a  blonde." 

"Very  good."    And  M.  de  Saint-Roch  continued  turning  over  the 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOB.  95 

pages  of  his  register.  "  Ah  !  here's  something  else,  '  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed ;  "  and  I  fancy  it  will  suit  you  exactly.  The  young  lady  is  a 
brunette,  as  you  desire,  and  positively  charming  in  all  respects.  She 
is  twenty  years  of  age,  and  has  never  been  to  school  ;  educated  at 
home — and  remarkably  well-educated  too — the  mother  being  somewhat 
exacting.  The  young  lady  is  amiable  and  sprightly,  but  not  coquettish, 
and  she  knows  how  to  keep  a  house.  The  father  was  a  cotton  spinner 
at  Roubaix,  and  retired  from  business  three  years  ago.  He  is  an 
excellent  worthy  man,  an  easy  dealer,  and  fairly  indulgent.  His  fortune 
is  mainly  in  house  property,  worth  nearly  a  million  francs  ;  but  he 
would  give  his  daughter  three  hundred  thousand  francs  or  so  in  cash." 

"Let  us  stop  there,"  said  Pascal,  "I  don't  think  we  could  find 
better." 

"No,  I  think  not,"  replied  M.  de  Saint-Roch.  "  I  am  certain  that 
the  young  lady  will  please  you.  I  can't  absolutely  guarantee  the  figure 
of  the  dowry,  it  might  perhaps  be  fifty  thousand  francs  more  or  less, 
for  the  father  has  lately  been  a  little  pressed  for  ready  money  having 
invested  large  sums  in  house  building." 

"  Never  mind — I  have  told  ycu  my  ideas — I  am  not  a  money 
grubber,  and  a  little  more  or  less  is  of  no  account.  Now,  what  is  this 
young  lady's  name,  and  when  shall  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  A  little  patience,  please.  You  shall  know  her  name  when  necessary, 
and  you  shall  be  speedily  introduced  to  her.  There  only  remains  a 
little  formality  to  be  dealt  with — the  simplest  thing  in  the  world." 

So  saying,  M.  de  Saint-Roch  handed  Pascal  a  little  printed  form 
which  he  asked  him  to  be  kind  enough  to  sign.  By  the  terms  of  this 
document,  the  young  engineer  undertook  to  pay  the  Ambassador  a  com- 
mission of  five  per  cent  on  the  amount  of  the  dowry  of  Mademoiselle 

on  the  day  after  the  wedding.     A  blank  space  was  left  for  the 

young  lady's  name. 

"  Ah  !  ha  !  thought  Pascal,  "  So  this  is  the  bottom  of  the  bag — shall  I 
sign  this  form  or  not  ?  After  all  I  don't  fancy  my  signature  will  ever 
cost  me  a  single  sou."  And  so,  taking  the  pen  which  M.  de 
Saint-Roch  offered  him,  he  inscribed  his  name  in  his  best  handwriting, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  document. 

The  Ambassador  then  took  the  pen  in  his  turn,  appended  his  signature 
beside  Pascal's,  and,  in  the  blank  space  reserved  for  the  young  lady's 
name,  inscribed  "  Antoinette  Gerbeau." 

"  Antoinette,"  remarked  Pascal  ;   "  I  rather  like  the  name." 

"That  is  a  happy  omen,"  answered  M.  de  Saint-Roch  graciously. 
"You  will  soon  have  news  of  me." 

He  then  bade  Pascal  good-day,  and  dismissed  him  by  way  of  the 
mysterious  door  behind  the  pigeon-holes,  as  on  the  occasion  of  their 
first  interview. 

The  young  engineer's  friends  made  merry  over  the  earlier  part  of  thi3 
second  audience,  when  Pascal  described  it  to  them  that  same  evening, 
but  the  finish  was  not  so  much  to  their  liking.  They  were  far  from 
being  pleased  with  the  story  of  the  printed  form  and  the  signature, 
which  showed  that  Hymen's  agent,  despite  his  poetic  wit:,  sj.nd  blue  bell 
coat  with  the  gold  buttons,  was  after  all  but  a  vulgar  m;:n  of  business. 
They   almost  unanimously  declared    that  they  would  l_%ve  forgotten 


96  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBA88ADOE. 

their  signature  in  his  mysterious  laboratory,  and  they  decided  that,  as 
M.  de  Saint-Roch  was  so  exacting,  they  would  not  honour  him  with 
their  custom.  Lorilleux  profited  of  the  occasion  to  revert  to  his  original 
opinion,  affirming  with  more  assurance  than  ever  that  the  Matrimonial 
Ambassador  was  a  mere  charlatan,  and  that  he  had  never  really  married 
any  one  at  all.  The  others  now  concurred  in  these  views,  and  as  the 
doctor  still  expressed  his  desire  to  find  a  wife,  they  suggested  that  he 
had  better  apply  elsewhere. 


VI. 

Three  or  four  days  had  elapsed  since  Pascal  had,  to  his  idea,  seen  M. 
de  Saint-Roch  for  the  last  time  in  his  life.  He  had  given  up  thinking 
of  the  Ambassador  almost  altogether,  when  one  evening,  on  his  return 
home,  his  servant  handed  him  a  letter  which  had  arrived  during  his  ab- 
sence in  the  day  time. 

Pascal  opened  the  envelope  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  Monsieur  and  dear  client. — I  am  at  this  moment  informed  of  a 
an  admirable  opportunity  which  presents  itself  for  you  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  Gerbeau.  My  excellent  friend, 
the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas  will  call  to  fetch  you  this  evening  at  nine 
o'clock  pecisely,  and  will  have  much  pleasure  in  conducting  you  to  a  ball 
where  you  will  be  able  to  meet  the  young  lady  in  question. 

' '  I  should  be  extremely  sorry  if  this  letter  failed  to  reach  you  in 
time,  for  we  might  not  find  such  a  favourable  occasion  for  some  weeks 
to  come,  the  more  especially  as  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  seldom  goes 
into  society. 

"  I  trust,  monsieur  and  dear  client,  that  you  will  consider  me  as  your 
most  devoted  friend, 

"J.  D.  de  Saint-Roch." 

"The  d — 1,"  exclaimed  Pascal ;  " at  nine  precisely  !  And  it  is  already 
more  than  half -past  eight.  I  must  make  haste  to  leave  the  house  if  1 
wish  to  avoid  the  person,  the  Ambassador  sends  me." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken,  than  the  servant  opened  the  door  and 
announced  : — 

"  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas  !  " 

The  Chevalier  was  a  well-bred,  distinguished-looking  man,  polite, 
amiable,  and  extremely  well  dressed.  It  would  be  difficult  to  state  his 
age,  but  he  must  have  been  somewhere  between  thirty  and  thirty-five 
years  old.  I  have  said  that  he  was  well  dressed,  indeed  a  mere  glance 
at  him  sufficed  to  show  that  he  patronised  one  of  the  very  best  tailors 
in  Paris.  His  putty-coloured  overcoat  was  just  the  correct  thing,  and 
his  dress  coat  fitted  him  to  perfection.  In  his  button-hole  he  wore  the 
variegated  rosettes  of  two  or  three  foreign  orders,  which  invested  him 
as  it  were  with  a  kind  of  official  dignity. 

He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  degree  embarrassed  at  finding  himself  in 
a  stranger's  abode,  but  bowed  to  Pascal  with  a  mingled  air  of  aristo- 
cratic grace  and  freedom. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  a  good  friend  of  mine,  who  holds  you  in  high 
esteemp  has  acquainted  mp  with  your  desire  to  go  into  s^if^Y;     \  £t]Q!ft4 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  97 

consider  myself  very  honoured  in  having  the  privilege  of  introducing 
a  man  like  yourself  to  the  few  families  I  am  acquainted  with." 

Position,  gesture,  tone — all  were  perfect,  as  Pascal  remarked,  whilst 
preparing  his  apologies.  He  explained  that  he  had  only  reached  home 
a  few  minutes  previously,  and  had  not  till  then  been  warned  of  the 
chevalier's  visit.  In  point  of  fact  he  scarcely  thought  it  advisable  to 
accompany  M.  de  Saint-Roch's  friend. 

"  I  am  not  dressed,  monsieur,"  he  added;  "and  I  would  not  trespass 
on  your  time  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that,"  replied  M.  de  Jeuflas.  "  There  is  no  hurry, 
and  I  can  very  well  wait  for  you." 

For  a  moment  longer  Pascal  hesitated,  but  curiosity  finally  won  the 
day,  and  after  a  fresh  exchange  of  remarks  he  decided  to  accompany 
the  chevalier. 

"Well,  if  you  will  kindly  wait  for  me,"  he  said,  "I  will  make  haste 
and  dress.     May  I  offer  you  a  Partagas  to  beguile  the  time." 

"No  thank  you,"  replied  M.  de  Jeuflas,  "  I  have  a  weakness  for  a 
good  cigar,  I  will  admit,  but  I  never  smoke  when  I  am  going  into  the 
society  of  ladies." 

Whilst  Pascal  was  dressing  he  asked  himself,  "  How  on  earth  can  M. 
de  Saint-Roch  procure  such  assistants  ?  That  chevalier  is  simply 
perfect.  Now-a-days  only  real  noblemen  and  fashionable  hairdressers 
refrain  from  smoking  through  fear  of  the  smell  troubling  the  ladies  ; 
and  this  fellow  Jeuflas  is  evidently  a  nobleman  and  not  a  hairdresser. 
Well,  well,  the  adventure  is  becoming  more  and  more  complicated." 

The  chevalier  had  a  vehicle  waiting  for  him  down-stairs,  and  as  soon 
as  he  and  Pascal  were  installed  inside,  he  exclaimed,  "  This  evening  we 
are  going  to  a  dance  given  by  a  friend  of  mine  who  formerly  occupied  a 
high  judicial  appointment,  but  who  has  now-a-days  retired  from  office. 
He  gives  two  or  three  little  balls  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  He  is  an 
exoellent  worthy  man,  and  his  wife  is  a  charming  woman.  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  pass  a  pleasant  evening  in  the  society  of  the  persons  they 
receive." 

On  arriving  at  their  destination  the  chevalier  introduced  Pascal  as 
one  of  his  oldest  and  best  friends,  and  the  young  engineer  plainly  per- 
ceived by  the  graceful  welcome  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  that  she 
held  M.  de  Jeuflas  in  high  esteem  and  really  had  great  regard  for  him. 
The  house  and  the  society  fully  corresponded  with  what  the  Ambassa- 
dor's emissary  had  said  ;  and  Pascal  felt  great  relief  at  finding  that  he 
had  not  been  introduced,  as  he  had  originally  feared  would  be  the  case, 
into  an  equivocal  circle. 

As  soon  as  the  introduction  was  over,  M.  de  Jeuflas  drew  the  young 
engineer  aside. 

"Look  over  there,"  said  he,  in  a  wonderfully  disinterested  tone. 
"Do  you  see  that  pretty  girl  on  the  settee,  near  the  window,  the  third 
From  the  curtain  ?  Perfectly  charming,  isn't  she  ?  Her  name  is  An- 
toinette Gerbeau.  I  greatly  esteem  her  father,  an'i  her  mother  is,  as 
every  one  admits,  a  perfect  model  of  virtue.    I  am  one  of  their  intimate 

Iriends. 

So  saying  the  chevalier  walked  away,  "  leavijg  his  young  friend,' 
as  he  put  it,  "  to  his  reflections." 

D 


98  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

Pascal  would  have  been  hard  to  please,  indeed,  if  he  had  not  shared 
the  chevalier's  opinion  concerning  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  Gerbeau.  She 
was  certainly  a  very  charming  girl,  her  dark  hair,  most  tastefully 
arranged,  enhanced  the  alabaster  whiteness  of  her  skin,  her  ruddy 
mouth  was  curved  into  a  dainty  smile,  and  her  large  black  eyes  sparkled 
with  girlish  gaiety.  At  this  moment  a  large  number  of  guests  were 
dancing  a  waltz,  and  no  doubt  she  regretted  that  she  was  not  among 
them.  From  time  to  time  she  turned  towards  her  mother,  seated  in  the 
rear,  as  if  to  reproach  her  for  being  the  cause  of  this  privation. 

"  M.  de  Saint- Roch  did  not  deceive  me,"  muttered  Pascal;  "sheia 
really  very  lovely,  indeed." 

In  presence  of  this  charming  girl  he  only  thought  of  the  Matrimonial 
Ambassador  with  repugnance  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  obliterate  all 
recollection  of  the  mysterious  house  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin  lrom  his 
mind,  and  to  have  owed  this  meeting  to  chance  alone.  "At  all  events," 
said  he,  "I  must  endeavour  to  dance  with  her."  And  making  a 
circuitous  d&tour  round  the  room  so  as  to  avoid  troubling  the  waltzers, 
he  approached  the  spot  where  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  was  seated. 

She  was  engaged  for  all  the  quadrilles  except  the  next  one ;  for  fancying 
that  she  must  have  already  promised  it,  the  young  beaux  who  thronged 
the  ball-room  had  invariably  asked  her  to  inscribe  their  names  for 
subsequent  dances.  Now  the  contingency  of  "sitting  out"  this  next 
quadrille,  like  the  waltz  which  had  just  been  danced,  by  no  means 
delighted  her,  so  that  when  Pascal  presented  himself  he  was  most 
graciously  received — not  because  he  was  a  good-looking,  witty  young 
man,  but  simply  because  he  was  a  "  partner." 

Pascal  was  not  fond  of  dancing  as  a  rule.  To  his  mind  the  modern 
quadrille  was  an  extremely  ridiculous  performance,  and  yet  he  found 
the  one  which  he  danced  with  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  a  great  deal  too 
short,  despite  its  elongated  figures.  No  doubt  he  would  have  been  greatly 
embarrassed  to  have  given  the  reason  why,  for  his  conversation  with 
the  young  lady  had  not  been  of  any  especial  interest.  Between  the 
figures  he  had  indulged  in  a  few  of  those  commonplace  remarks  about 
the  heat,  the  time,  the  light  and  the  music,  which  are  current  in  Parisian 
ball  rooms,  and  on  her  side  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  had  timidly  given 
utterance  to  a  few  monosyllabic  replies.  That  had  been  everything  ;  and 
yet,  when  there  came  an  end  to  the  music — adapted  from  some  popular 
opera  by  Beaumann,  or  one  of  the  other  fashionable  "composers  "  of  the 
day — Pascal  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from  calling  out  "Encore  !  " 

He  had  to  take  his  partner  back  to  her  place,  and  whilst  doing  so  in 
circuitous  fashion,  so  as  to  have  the  pleasure  of  feeling  her  leaning  on 
his  arm  a  little  longer,  he  begged  her  to  grant  him  a  mazurka  as  she 
had  promised  all  the  other  quadrilles. 

"I  don't  dance  the  mazurka,  monsieur,"  she  replied  with  a  little 
sigh  and  a  half  suppressed  pout  of  vexation. 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  insisted  Pascal,  "allow  me  to  solicit  this  favour 
in  presence  of  madame  your  mamma.  I  feel  sure  she  will  not  refuse 
me.      .    " 

Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  raised  her  eyes  to  Pascal's  and  blushed  to  find 
that  he  had  fathomed  her  secret  inclination.  She  would  have  so  much 
liked  to  dance  that  charming  mazurka  !    But  then  she  knew  that  hv 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  99 

mother  was  inflexible  on  certain  dancing  questions.  So  it  was  in  a  low 
voice,  and  without  any  great  hone  in  the  success  of  an  application  which 
others  had  no  doubt  often  made  in  vain,  that  she  answered,  "  You  may 
do  so,  monsieur." 

He  proved  an  eloquent  spokesman,  this  intriguing  friend  of  mine, 
Pascal  Divorne,  and  he  was  so  wonderfully  fortunate  as  to  obtain 
Madame  Gerbeau's  consent.  It  was  by  no  means  an  easy  task,  for  the 
worthy  lady  prided  herself  on  her  rigid  principles,  which  were  well-nigh 
as  immutable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians.  Every  one  knew 
that  she  had  repeatedly  vowed  that  her  daughter  should  never,  never 
take  part  in  any  of  those  improper  dances,  in  which  a  young  man  is 
privileged  to  pass  his  arm  around  his  partner's  waist. 

Yes,  she  had  sworn  and  cried  it  on  the  housetops.  It  was,  so  to  say, 
the  first  clause  of  the  charter  which  she  had  graciously  granted  the  first 
time  she  took  her  daughter  into  society.  Quadrilles,  which  are  virtually 
walked  and  not  danced  in  the  modern  drawing-room,  were  permissible 
enough,  but  Antoinette  must  keep  aloof  from  polka,  mazurka,  and 
waltz  alike.  As  every  one  was  fully  acquainted  with  Madame  Gerbeau's 
views  on  this  important  subject,  no  little  astonishment  was  expressed 
when  her  daughter  was  seen  pacing  a  mazurka  in  the  company  of  a  good- 
looking  young  man  whom  nobody  was  acquainted  with.  Rival  mammas 
put  their  heads  together  and  knowingly  opined  that  there  must  be  some 
little  intrigue  afoot,  and  that  this  fortunate  dancer  was  destined  to  be- 
come a  happy  bridegroom. 

As  for  Pascal,  he  was  simply  heroic  ;  for  with  exemplary  courage  and 
self-sacrifice  he  danced  three  or  four  quadrilles  with  other  young  ladies, 
in  hopes  of  subsequently  obtaining  another  mazurka  with  the  charming 
Antoinette.  But  when,  at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  looked 
round  the  room  in  search  of  Madame  Gerbeau,  so  as  to  wring  from  her 
a  second  consent,  he  found  that  both  she  and  her  daughter  had  dis- 
appeared. 

His  disappointment  was  most  acute,  and  he  regretted  having  indulged 
in  all  this  saltatory  exercise  for  nothing.  What  should  he  do  ?  He  was 
asking  himself  this  question  for  the  twentieth  time  when  he  suddenly 
remembered  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas,  whom  he  had  quite  forgotten  dur- 
ing the  last  few  hours.  He  had  some  little  difficulty  in  finding  M.  de 
Saint-Roch's  emissary  ;  but  at  last  he  discovered  him  in  one  of  the  card- 
rooms.  The  chevalier  was  playing  at  6carU,  and  the  little  pile  of  gold 
in  front  of  him  showed  that  luck  was  on  his  side.  He  no  longer  looked 
the  same  man,  for  his  previous  frigidity  had  vanished,  and  his  features 
wore  an  expression  of  concentrated  delight.  His  eyes  sparkled,  and  it 
was  clear  enough  that  he  was  allowing  his  favourite  passion  full  rein. 

"  So  that's  the  secret,"  thought  Pascal.  "  The  chevalier  is  a  gambler  ! 
And  to  satisfy  his  passion  he  has  sold  himself  to  Saint-Roch.  Poor 
devil !     What  slavery  !  " 

As  soon  as  M.  de  Jeuflas  caught  sight  of  his  protdgi,  he  made  him  a 
friendly  sign  as  if  to  say,  "Pray  wait  for  me."  After  that  he  was  no 
longer  absorbed  in  his  game.  The  gleam  left  his  eyes,  and  his  features' 
recovered  their  customary  expression  of  composure,  If  he  continued 
playing,  it  was  merely  because  he  w'as  bound  to'  finish  the  game  he  was 
engaged  in. 


100  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

As  soon  as  it  was  over,  he  left  the  dcarti  tahle  and  joined  Pascal 
"Well?"  he  asked  with  a  certain  amount  of  anxiety  which  could  be 
easily  detected  in  his  glance. 

"I  am  delighted,"  answered  the  young  engineer;  "positively  de- 
lighted.    I  don't  think  I  have  ever  met  such  a  charming  girl  before." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  responded  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas,  whose 
satisfaction  was  now  as  apparent  as  his  anxiety  had  been  a  moment 
before.  "I  felt  sure  she  would  please  you.  Would  you  like  me  to 
introduce  you  to  her  father,  who,  as  I  think  I  told  you,  is  one  of  my 
good  friends." 

"  By  all  means  ;  but  I  fear  he  has  left.  At  least  Madame  Gerbeau 
and  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  seem  to  have  gone  home." 

The  chevalier  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Nearly  three  o'clock,"  he  re- 
marked. "  As  you  say,  it  is  too  late.  They  always  leave  at  two  o'clock. 
Madame  Gerbeau  is  a  woman  of  inflexible  principles,  my  dear  sir — at 
all  events  except  for  you.  Ah  !  you  must  have  greatly  prepossessed  her 
in  your  favour. " 

"What,  that  mazurka ? " 

' '  Precisely.  If  you  were  acquainted  with  Madame  Gerbeau  like  I 
am,  you  would  know  what  a  concession  it  was.  But  come,  tell  me  are 
you  at  liberty  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  might  manage  to  let  you  lunch  with  M.  Gerbeau." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  as  free  as  a  bird  ! "  retorted  Pascal  with  alacrity. 

"  Very  well,  then.  To-morrow,  or,  rather,  this  morning,  find  your- 
self in  the  Passage  Jouffroy,  sauntering  up  and  down.  Be  there  about 
eleven  o'clock,  rather  before  than  after.  I  will  meet  you  as  if  by 
chance." 

"  All  right,  you  may  count  upon  me." 

At  three  minutes  past  eleven,  as  Pascal  was  walking  round  the 
Passage  Jouffroy  for  the  second  time,  he  espied  the  chevalier  coming  in 
his  direction.  M.  de  Jeuflas  was  giving  his  arm  to  an  elderly  gentle- 
man with  a  good-natured  look  and  a  prosperous  air — Mademoiselle 
Antoinette's  father  in  person.  The  chevalier  seemed  delighted  to  meet 
his  protdgS,  and  informed  him  that  he  had  called  on  his  old  friend 
Gerbeau  that  morning  to  tempt  him  out  of  doors  for  a  little  ramble ; 
and  finally,  he  invited  Pascal  to  go  and  lunch  with  them. 

Pascal  accepted  with  evident  delight,  and  on  the  way  to  the  restaurant 
they  were  bound  for,  M.  de  Jeuflas  found  means,  despite  the  trifling 
distance,  to  whisper  certain  particulars  of  the  young  engineer's  bio- 
graphy into  M.  Gerbeau's  ear,  so  that,  on  reaching  their  destination, 
the  retired  cotton-spinner  knew  that  he  was  about  to  lunch  with  a  very 
remarkable  young  man,  whose  conduct  had  always  been  exemplary,  and 
whose  ability  was  above  all  question — a  young  man  who  had  indeed 
formerly  been  a  student  at  the  Ecole  Polytechnique,  who  belonged  to  a 
wealthy  and  honourable  family,  and  who  was  possessed  of  a  private 
fortune  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs,  amassed  by  his  own  skill  and 
exertions. 

The  chevalier  related  all  this  in  an  apartS,  between  two  puffs  at  hiq 
cigar  ;  for  he  was  given  t;q  smoking  in  the  mprning.     His  skill  was  cer- 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  101 

tainly  not  thrown  away  ;  for  M.  Gerbeau  was  already  delighted  with 
Pascal,  even  before  the  dessert  was  served,  and  after  the  coffee  he  was 
fairly  conquered. 

Mademoiselle  Antoinette's  father  had  no  doubt  been  very  skilful  in 
conducting  his  business  at  Roubaix  ;  but  a  man  may  be  most  expert  in 
cotton-spinning,  without  knowing  anything  of  houses  or  house-building. 
Now  it  so  happened  that,  for  the  last  eighteen  months,  M.  Gerbeau  had 
been  engaged  in  a  very  worrying  speculation.  Having  nothing  to  do 
with  himself  since  he  had  retired  from  business,  he  had,  like  many  an 
idle  man  of  means,  conceived  the  rash  idea  of  indulging  in  house-build- 
ing. He  had  sold  an  estate  in  Saintonge  and  had  applied  the  proceeds 
to  the  purchase  of  ground  in  Paris,  which  he  bought  second  hand  and 
paid  a  very  high  price  for.  His  eyes  ought  to  have  been  opened  at  this 
juncture,  but  he  obstinately  persevered  in  his  plan,  and  proceeded  to 
erect  one  of  those  vast,  seven-floored  houses,  familiar  to  every  visitor  to 
Paris,  and  each  of  which  would  amply  accommodate  all  the  inhabitants 
of  a  good-sized  village.  Now  for  a  person  who  knows  nothing  whatever 
about  building,  the  edification  of  such  a  huge  caravanserai  simply  means 
ruination,  long  as  his  purse  may  be.  Special  knowledge  is  needed  fx> 
control  a  contractor's  estimates,  and  when  this  knowledge  is  wanting, 
the  would-be  landlord  has  to  rely  entirely  upon  his  architect,  who,  if  lie 
be  an  unscrupulous  man,  can  come  to  some  nice  little  arrangement  with 
the  builders  and  totally  sacrifice  his  client's  interests.  Now  M.  Ger- 
beau, being  quite  deficient  in  the  requisite  technical  knowledge,  was 
utterly  unable  to  check  the  estimates  brought  him  by  his  builders  and 
his  architect ;  but  as  he  was  a  man  of  common  sense,  he  instinctively 
realised  that  one  or  the  other  of  them  was  plundering  him.  Perhaps 
they  were  all  in  the  same  swim,  but  how  was  he  to  obtain  full  enlighten- 
ment ?  He  was  beginning  to  feel  real  anxiety,  for  he  vaguely  knew  that 
speculation  was  not  unlike  certain  machinery  :  when  a  finger  is  once 
caught  in  the  cords  of  certain  apparatus,  the  immediate  amputation  of 
an  arm  becomes  necessary,  or  else  the  whole  body  is  bound  to  follow  ; 
while  in  speculation,  one  bank-note  calls  for  another,  until  an  entire 
fortune  is  spirited  away. 

While  they  were  lunching,  M.  Gerbeau  related  his  misadventure  to 
Pascal,  and  Pascal  promised  to  extricate  him  from  his  difficulty,  adding 
that  a  sacrifice  would  no  doubt  be  necessary,  but  that  he  would  en- 
deavour to  reduce  it  to  the  smallest  possible  figure.  He  kept  his  word  ; 
and  after  a  week  spent  in  calculations,  interviews,  and  running  about, 
he  was  able  to  furnish  Mademoiselle  Antoinette's  father  with  a  plain 
statement  of  facts,  and  to  name  him,  moreover,  a  fully  solvent  purchaser 
for  the  uncompleted  house.  Still,  M.  Gerbeau  found  that  his  little 
experiment  would  cost  him  fully  sixty  thousand  francs,  and  he  was 
horrified  at  realising  the  depth  of  the  abyss  which  must  have  opened 
beneath  his  feet  had  he  not  obtained  timely  assistance.  As  it  was,  he 
saved  the  great  bulk  of  the  money  he  had  invested  in  this  unlucky  enter- 
prise, and  his  gratitude  for  Pascal's  services,  which  had  preserved  him 
almost  from  ruin,  was  great  indeed. 

While  Pascal  was  carrying  on  all  these  negotiations  on  M.  Gerbeau's 
behalf  he  had  frequent  occasion  to  call  on  the  latter  at  his  house.  He 
was  invited,  to  dinner  several  times,  and  thus  had  numerous  opportunities 


102  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR. 

of  seeing  Mademoiselle  Antoinette.  In  reference  to  that  young  lady  his 
first  impression  by  no  means  diminished,  but  steadily  became  intensified  ; 
and,  moreover,  he  found  the  Gerbeau  family  circle  a  most  attractive  one. 
The  comfort,  happiness,  and  honesty  that  reigned  there  reminded  him 
of  what  his  own  home  had  been  during  his  earlier  days.  Madame 
Gerbeau,  so  dignified  and  yet  so  affable,  so  affectionate,  and  yet  so  free 
from  weak  indulgence,  recalled  to  him  the  memory  of  his  mother.  And 
above  everything,  he  felt,  he  realised  that  he  truly  loved  Antoinette. 

Ah  !  how  he  wished  that  the  Matrimonial  Ambassador  would  appro- 
priately descend  into  the  tomb  with  his  secrets,  engagements,  'acts,  and 
registers  kept  in  hieroglyphical  characters  !  He  was  haunted  by  the 
memory  of  unctuous  and  paternal-mannered  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch, 
that  terrible  man  with  the  flaxen  wig,  whose  face  was  as  thickly  and  as 
brightly  painted  as  Jezebel's.  He  did  not  dare  to  curse  him,  for,  after  all, 
it  was  thanks  to  his  agency  that  he  knew  the  girl  he  loved ;  but  how  he 
longed  to  hear  that  the  illustrious  negotiator  had  shuffled  off  this  mortal 
coil  and  betaken  himself  somewhere  across  the  Stygian  ferry  !  He  could 
scarcely  wish  him  in  Paradise,  for  what  could  the  poor  Ambassador  do 
in  that  seraphic  region  where  there  shall  be  no  marriage  nor  giving  in 
marriage  1  Then  the  young  engineer  remembered  that  signature  of  his 
which  he  had  penned  in  his  best  handwriting  at  the  bottom  of  his  agree- 
ment with  the  Ambassador.  He  seemed  to  have  it  before  his  eyes— that 
horrible  agreement,  traced  in  letters  of  fire  ;  and  lie  felt  as  if  he  had 
signed  a  pact  with  the  fiend. 

And  that  terrible  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas  !  That  other  demon — anothei 
source  of  remorse.  He  was  even  more  worrying  than  his  patron,  for  the 
latter  seldom  left  his  laboratory,  whereas  the  Chevalier  was  liable  to  be 
encountered  at  each  step  Pascal  took.  Was  he  not  a  friend  of  the  Ger- 
beau family  ?  Would  he  not  be  present  at  the  marriage,  supposing  it 
took  place  ?  Ah  !  no  doubt  those  thin  lips  of  his  would  curve  into  a 
satanic  smile  when  he  perceived  Pascal  and  Antoinette  at  the  altar. 
The  young  engineer  would  have  given  half  he  possessed  to  have  become 
acquainted  with  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  otherwise  than  by  the  agency  of 
these  two  accomplices  ! 

And  to  think  that  he  had  no  one  to  confide  in — not  a  friend  he  could 
consult.  He  would  not  have  spoken  to  Lorilleux  on  the  subject  for 
worlds.  What  indeed  would  the  doctor  have  said  had  he  known  what 
was  transpiring  ?  Pascal  trembled  at  the  thought  that  his  friends,  his 
parents  even,  might  one  day  learn  that  he  had  really  found  himself  a 
wife  by  M.  de  Saint-Roch's  agency. 

However,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  take  a  decision,  and  so  he 
confessed  to  M.  Gerbeau  that  he  loved  his  daughter.  The  retired  cotton- 
spinner  was  delighted,  but  before  giving  a  decisive  answer  he  asked  for 
a  few  days'  delay  so  as  to  consult  his  wife  and  Antoinette.  The  answer 
proved  favourable,  and  three  days  after  asking  for  Mademoiselle  Ger- 
beau's  hand,  Pascal  was  authorised  to  pay  his  court  officially. 

But  to  whom  was  he  indebted  for  this  prompt  result  which  crowned 
his  fondest  hopes? 

Why,  precisely  to  that  "  demon,"  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas,  who,  to 
avoid  time  being  lost  in  inquiries,  had  answered  for  his  young  friend  on 
his  own  head  ;  to  the  chevalier  who,   during  an  entire  afternoon,  had 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  10-li 

remained  closeted  with  Madame  Gerbeau,  singing  his  protege's  praises, 
recounting  his  life  as  it  were  day  by  day,  and  entering  into  all  those 
minute  particulars  which  mothers,  anxious  for  their  daughters'  happi- 
ness, are  so  desirous  of  learning  ;  to  the  chevalier,  who  had  spoken  of 
Pascal's  family  as  if  he  had  known  it  for  twenty  years,  tracing  the  most 
flattering,  and  yet  life-like  portrait  of  both  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Divorne. 

No  doubt  everything  the  chevalier  said  was  true.  And  yet,  what  a 
trial  and  what  a  disgrace  to  owe  one's  happiness  to  such  a  man — to  be 
his  accomplice,  so  to  say  ;  for  in  point  of  fact,  M.  de  Jeuflas  lied,  inas- 
much as  he  stated  things  he  was  not  personally  sure  of,  and  audaciously 
transformed  whatever  he  considered  probable  into  a  positive  fact.  It 
chanced  that  the  sum  total  of  his  communications  was  correct,  so  that 
his  perspicacity  and  ability  in  reasoning  were  above  all  question,  but  the 
same  can  scarcely  be  said  of  his  veracity.  As  for  Pascal,  he  hardly  knew 
whether  he  ought  to  feel  enraged  with  the  means  employed  or  delighted 
beyond  measure  at  their  result. 


VII. 

A  fortnight  had  elapsed,  and  Pascal,  who  of  an  evening  had  formerly 
been  riveted  as  it  were  to  his  fireside,  was  no  longer  to  be  met  at  home. 
His  friends  called  over  and  over  again,  and  invariably  "found"  him 
"out."  His  servant  had  always  the  same  stereotyped  answer  on  his 
tongue :  "  Monsieur  Divorne  is  not  at  home,  and  will  not  return  till 
late  at  night. " 

Jean  Lantier  fruitlessly  sought  for  his  partner,  whom  he  wished  to 
see — so  he  declared — on  important  and  pressing  business,  but  Pascal 
was  not  to  be  met.  As  for  Lorilleux,  he  was  lost  in  conjectures  and  over- 
whelmed with  anxiety. 

This  situation  could  not  possibly  last  ;  and  one  evening  the  doctor  and 
the  contractor  met  outside  Pascal's  door.  At  ten  o'clock  at  night  they 
were  still  waiting  for  him  in  his  private  room.  Lantier,  pressed  by  his 
wife,  wished  to  speak  to  Pascal  concerning  one  of  his  daughters  ;  while 
Lorilleux,  on  his  side,  had  decided  to  invite  his  friend  to  a  family  dinner 
on  the  morrow,  with  the  view  of  bringing  him  in  contact  with  his  sister. 

At  last,  at  eleven  o'clock,  Pascal  made  his  appearance.  His  eyes 
were  radiant  with  delight.  He  had  passed  the  evening  in  the  society  of 
Mademoiselle  Antoinette,  who  had  replied  affirmatively  to  a  very  perti- 
nent question  which  he  had  made  so  bold  as  to  ask  her  in  an  undertone. 
He  returned  home,  with  the  fixed  determination  of  writing  at  once  to 
his  parents,  acquainting  them  with  his  intentions,  and  requesting  their 
consent  to  his  marriage.  This,  he  thought,  would  be  the  best  way  to 
divert  any  such  suspicion  as  might  exist.  Unctuous  M.  de  Saint-Roch 
and  the  gambling  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas  must  remain  behind  the  scenes. 
M.  Gerbeau's  building  difficulties  would  alone  suffice  to  explain  how 
Pascal  had  become  acquainted  with  his  future  wife.  After  all,  it  often 
happens  that  a  business  connection  serves  as  the  prelude  to  complete 
intimacy  and  sincere  friendship. 

"  Well,  so  here  you  are  at  last ! "  exclaimed  Lorilleux  as  soon  as  the 


104  THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

young  engineer  made  his  appearance.  "Do  you  know  we  have  been 
waiting  for  you  for  the  last  two  hours.  It  is  becoming  almost  an  impos- 
eibility  to  see  you  now-a-days.  But,  'pon  my  word,  what  a  swell  you 
are  !  Have  you  been  dining  with  some  sovereign  prince  ?  I  didn't 
know  you  arrayed  yourself  so  superbly  ! " 

Love  generally  has  a  great  influence  on  a  young  man's  personal  ap- 
appearance  ;  and,  following  the  usual  rule,  Pascal  had  become  quite  a 
dandy  since  his  introduction  to  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  be  reduced  to  the  traditional  fig  leaf  ?"  he 
gaily  answered.  "  When  a  man  is  bent  on  a  conquest  he  must  array 
himself  in  a  conqueror's  armour.  So  you  are  satisfied  with  my  adorn- 
ment ?  " 

"Conquest — conqueror?"  stammered  Lorilleux. 

"  Certainly.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  complain 
because  I've  fallen  in  with  the  ideas  which  you  yourself  have  preached 
from  time  immemorial.  But  now  I  think  of  it,  have  you  found  your 
ideal  maiden  during  the  last  fortnight  ?  " 

The  doctor  had  a  presentiment  that  some  terrible  misfortune  was 
about  to  befall  him.  "No,"  he  replied  ;  "not  yet.  It  isn't  so  easy  to 
find  such  a  wife  as  I  wish  for." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  chimed  in  Jean  Lantier.  "  It's  like  plunging 
one's  hand  into  a  sack  to  pick  out  an  eel  from  amidst  a  lot  of  vipers." 

"  You  are  all  too  exacting,"  rejoined  Pascal.  "  I  don't  hunt  after  a 
chimera,  and,  upon  my  word,  I've  found  what  I  wanted.  I  hope  I've 
chosen  the  eel  as  Lantier  says.  To  be  brief,  my  dear  fellows,  as  you  sk-e 
my  best  friends,  you  shall  be  the  first  to  know  the  great  news  :  I  am 
going  to  marry.     It's  decided." 

These  words  fairly  overwhelmed  the  young  engineer's  companions. 
Lantier  sank  back  helplessly  in  his  arm-chair,  while  Lorilleux  remained 
petrified  as  it  were — as  motionless  as  Lot's  wife  after  her  transformation 
into  a  pillar  of  salt,  and  as  white  as  the  professional  cravat  which  en- 
circled his  neck." 

Pascal  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  absolute  stupefaction. 
"  Why,  what's  this  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  the  news  of  my  marriage  doesn't  seem 
to  delight  you.  I  thought  you  would  share  my  own  satisfaction,  and 
really  expected  your  congratulations. " 

"  So  it  isn't  a  joke  ?  "  asked  Lantier. 

"  A  joke  indeed  !  Why  I  hope  that  the  ceremony  will  take  place 
before  another  three  weeks  are  over  our  heads,  and  I  expect  that  you 
will  be  present,  my  old  friend  Lantier.  Besides,  you  will  have  to  help 
me  in  building  a  nice  little  place  where  we'll  have  a  jolly  housewarming 
before  next  winter. " 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  answered  the  contractor  with  a  sigh.  "I 
had  come  to  speak  to  you  of  a  project  of  mine — of  an  idea  that  had 
occurred  to  me  ;  but  there  is  no  hurry,  and  I  will  put  it  off  to  another 
time.  It's  getting  very  late  now,  and  besides  the  occasion  scarcely 
seems  appropriate."  Bowing  to  Lorilleux,  who  did  not  see  him,  he 
then  shook  Pascal  by  the  hand  and  left  the  room.  A  moment  later  his 
heavy  footfall  could  be  heard  as  he  descended  the  stairs  which  he  had 
climbed  two  hours  previously  with  all  the  joyful  alacrity  of  hope. 

As  soon  as  Lantier  was  gone,  Pascal  went  into  another  room,  leaving 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  105 

Lorilleux  alone.  The  doctor  then  shook  off  the  kind  of  paralysis  which 
had  struck  him,  to  indulge  in  one  of  those  fits  of  cold  silent  rage, 
customary  only  among  men  of  his  stamp.  Bile,  not  blood,  mounted  to 
his  brain,  almost  stifling  and  blinding  him  at  the  same  time.  With  one 
word,  Pascal  had  overturned  the  edifice  raised  by  the  labour  of  a  life- 
time, and  the  doctor  was  buried  beneath  its  ruins 

All  is  lost ! — There  is  no  more  hope  !  Such  were  the  words  that  rung 
in  his  ears,  and  as  he  listened  to  them  his  rage  increased.  He  would 
not  have  hesitated  to  commit  a  crime  to  satisfy  his  spite  and  wreak 
revenge.  Only  yesterday  he  had  called  Pascal  his  friend,  and  yet  how 
bitterly  he  hated  him  now  !  In  a  few  minutes  Lorilleux's  concentrated 
fury  acquired  extraordinary  proportions. 

"  The  scoundrel !  "  he  muttered  between  his  clenched  teeth.  "  The 
scoundrel  !     So  he  betrays  our  friendship.  Ah  !  he  shall  pay  for 

the  horrible  sufferings  he  has  made  me  endure.  The  happiness  of  his 
life  will  not  suffice  for  my  revenge. " 

And  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  a  madman's  feverish 
agitation,  with  haggard  eyes  and  waving  arms,  which  every  now  and 
then  came  in  contact  with  the  walls.  He  looked  like  some  caged  wild 
beast  seized  with  a  fit  of  frenzy.  He  would  almost  have  murdered 
Pascal,  but  he  was  anxious  to  devise  some  more  refined  revenge. 

At  last  this  access  of  fury  came  to  an  end,  and  Lorilleux  sat  down 
again.  His  anger  had  not  diminished  ;  with  a  man  of  his  stamp  it 
would  probably  last  for  years,  but  at  all  events  he  had  recovered  his 
■tang  /void.  The  usual  mask  of  frigidity  again  overspread  his  contracted 
features,  and  seated  in  front  of  Pascal's  writing-table,  he  began  to 
reflect.  While  resting  his  forehead  on  one  hand,  he  allowed  the  other 
to  toy  with  some  papers  spread  over  the  open  blotting  pad  before  him. 
Suddenly,  as  his  glance  turned  towards  the  table,  he  perceived  a  name 
at  the  bottom  of  a  sheet  of  note  paper — a  name  which  at  once  explained 
the  hitherto  mysterious  nature  of  Pascal's  conduct.  Drawing  the  paper 
from  among  the  others  with  feverish  alacrity,  he  muttered  in  a  tone  of 
well-nigh  fiendish  delight,  "  A  letter  from  Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch  !  So 
that's  the  meaning  of  it,  eh  !  "  A  moment  later  he  had  perused  the 
note  written  by  the  Matrimonial  Ambassador  to  announce  the  visit  of 
the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas. 

The  date  of  this  letter,  which  corresponded  exactly  with  Pascal's 
disappearance  from  home,  was  equivalent  to  a  full  explanation.  "  There 
can  be  no  doubt,"  thought  Lorilleux,  "  Pascal's  intended  must  be  this 
Madamoiselle  Gerbeau.  I  can  easily  control  that  point  by-and-by. 
With  a  little  skilful  questioning,  I  can,  no  doubt,  prevail  on' Pascal  t<i 
give  me  his  inamorata's  name,  and  then  we'll  see  !     .  What  an 

idea  !  To  think  of  his  marrying  one  of  Saint-Boch's  hussies.  Why  its 
positively  abominable."  For  a  moment  the  doctor  paused,  absorbed  in 
reflection.  "  But  everything  is  not  yet  lost,"  he  resumed.  "  I  may  after 
all  be  able  to  parry  this  unexpected  blow."  And  yielding  to  a  sudden 
inspiration,  which  illuminated  his  pale  face  with  a  gleam  of  joy,  he 
chose  a  biank  sheet  of  paper,  took  a  pen,  and  prepared  to  write. 

At  this  moment  Pascal  could  be  heard  calling  from  the  adjoining 
room.  Having  divested  himself  of  his  boots  and  his  dress  coat  in  his 
bed  chamber,  he  had  determined  to  allow  himself  the  luxury  of  a  cigar 


106  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

by  the  fireside.  "Well,  doctor,"  he  cried.  "Aren't  you  coming  to 
warm  yourself?  It  must  be  bitterly  cold  in  my  work-room,  and  we 
Bhall  be  much  better  here  for  a  quiet  chat.  Bring  the  box  of  cigars  with 
you." 

"  All  right !  "  replied  Lorilleux.  "  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment, 
but  just  let  me  finish  a  letter.  " 

The  doctor  did  not,  however,  write  one  letter,  but  two,  the  first  of 
them  running  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  Monsieur  Divorce, — If  you  wish  to  prevent  an  irreparable 
misfortune,  hasten  to  Paris  at  once.  Your  son  Pascal  is  in  the  hands  of 
an  unscrupulous  matrimonial  agent,  whom  you  very  likely  know  by 
name — Monsieur  de  Saint-Roch.  He  is  about  to  ally  Pascal  with  one 
of  those  families  which  are  shunned  by  all  honest  folks — he  means  him 
to  marry  one  of  those  girls  with  lost  characters  who  cannot  find  hus- 
bands. Pascal  is  blind,  and,  besides,  he  is  infatuated  with  what  he 
believes  to  be  "love."  He  has  concealed  everything,  even  from  his  best 
friends  ;  and  of  course  even  their  remonstrances  would  be  of  no  avail, 
for  you  know,  yourself,  how  obstinate  your  son  is.  You  alone  can  save 
him  from  shame  and  ultimate  despair. 

One  of  your  Friends. 

"  P.  S. — It  would  perhaps  be  advisable  not  to  show  Pascal  this  letter. 
Come  to  Paris  as  speedily  as  you  possibly  can." 

The  second  letter,  intended  for  M.  Gerbeau,  was  couched  in  the 
following  terms  : — 

"  My  Dear  Friend, — Accept  my  sincere  congratulations.  You  are  a 
good  father,  and  I  see  that  you  are  exempt  from  all  foolish  prejudices. 
You  are  going  to  marry  your  daughter  to  a  man  whom  Saint-Roch,  the 
matrimonial  agent,  introduced  to  yon  !  What  a  splendid  match  it  will 
be  !  You  don't  know  what  happiness  is  in  store  for  Antoinette  !  You 
must  be  proud  indeed  to  marry  her  to  a  man  who  owes  his  wealth  to  all 
kinds  of  disgraceful  speculations — if,  indeed,  he  be  wealthy,  which  is 
perhaps  not  quite  sure.  You  will  be  better  pleased  than  ever  when  you 
learn  why  M.  Pascal  Divorne  was  expelled  from  the  Ecole  des  Ponts 
et  Chausees.  Apply  to  him,  and  he'll  tell  you  how  and  why  it  happened. 
Come,  old  boy,  get  the  dowry  ready.     Pascal  likes  the  jingle  of  gold. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  inclined  to  believe  me  ;  but  just  look  at  the 
letter  from  Saint-Roch,  which  I  enclose.  That  is  unimpeachable  docu- 
mentary evidence,  and  what  more  could  you  wish  for '! 

"  Your  best  friend  congratulates  you.  By-the-bye,  have  you  fixed 
the  day  ?  " 

In  this  second  anonymous  missive,  Lorilleux  carefully  enclosed  Saint- 
Roch 's  note  referring  to  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas's  visit,  and  then,  placing 
both  of  the  letters  in  envelopes,  he  addressed  the  former  one  to  M. 
Divorne  at  Lannion,  and  hurried  into  the  next  room  with  the  box  of 
cigars,  as  Pascal  had  requested.  He  must  find  out  from  the  young 
engineer  where  he  ought  to  direct  the  missive  intended  for  M.  Gerbeau, 
and  trusted  that  their  conversation  would  lead  to  that  result.  The 
doctor  was  now  fairly  elated,  for  he  opined  that  his  little  scheme  of 
Ireachery  was  bound  to  prove  successful.  A  man  who  sees  a  tile — blown 
from  the  roof  of  a  house,  and  threatening  to  fall  on  his  head — shattered 
on  the  pavement  beside  him,  without  doing  him  the  least  harm,  could 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  107 

scarcely  entertain  a  higher  sense  of  deliverance  from  danger  than  Pascal's 
true  and  trusted  friend. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  now  that  we  are  alone,  will  you  at  least  conde- 
scend to  recount  your  romance  ?  I  think  you  owe  me  that,  you  dread- 
fully distrustful  fellow  !  It  will  be  some  time  before  I  forgive  you  for 
your  want  of  confidence." 

Pascal  asked  no  better  than  to  relate  the  story  of  his  amours.  He  was 
glad  to  be  able  to  talk  about  Antoinette  to  some  one  at  last.  And  so  he 
availed  himself  of  what  he  considered  to  be  a  golden  opportunity,  and 
was  as  prolix  as  lovers  usually  are.  However,  he  was  particularly 
careful  to  make  no  mention  of  Saint-Roch — the  Matrimonial  Ambassador, 
or  of  the  chevalier — his  accomplice.  He  said  that  ' '  a  person  of  his 
acquaintance  "  had  introduced  him  to  the  retired  cotton-spinner,  who 
happened  to  be  in  want  of  an  architect.  He  had  been  happy  enough  to 
save  him  from  a  perfect  disaster,  and  their  intimacy  dated  from  that 
time.  He  had  seen  and  admired  his  client's  daughter,  had  asked  for  her 
hand  in  marriage,  and  it  had  been  granted  to  him.  That  was  every- 
thing. 

"  But  you  have  forgotten  to  tell  me  this  worthy  cotton -spinner's  name, " 
artfully  remarked  the  perfidious  practitioner. 

"  Oh  !  his  name  is  Gerbeau.  He  was  formerly  in  business  at  Roubaix," 
answered  Pascal. 

"So  I  was  not  mistaken,"  thought  Lorilleux  ;  and  he  added  aloud, 
"  and  where  does  he  live,  the  fortunate  father  of  the  future  Madame 
Pascal  ?  " 

"At  No.  5  in  the  Rue  Pavee,"  replied  the  young  engineer,  in  all 
simplicity. 

"  What !  in  the  Marais  !  "  ejaculated  Lorilleux,  "  I  should  have 
thought  that  quarter  of  Paris  rather  below  vour  attention,  my  dear 
fellow." 

"Why,  don't  you  know  that  after  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  the 
Marais  is  the  district  where  heiresses  are  most  readily  found.  There's 
ao  mistake  about  it.  And  the  Marais,  moreover,  is  one  of  the  rare 
quarters  of  Paris,  where  you  can  still  find  houses  that  people  can  live  in, 
with  rooms  of  decent  height  and  surface,  and  staircases  which  two 
people  can  climb  at  the  same  time." 

"Come,  come,  I  see  you're  a  happy  mortal,"  remarked  Lorilleux. 
"  But,  dear  me,  what  a  blunderer  I  am  !  I  forgot  to  say  something  in 
the  note  I  scribbled  a  moment  ago." 

And,  returning  into  Pascal's  work-room,  he  penned,  in  a  disguised 
hand-writing,  the  following  superscription  on  the  envelope,  which  had 
hitherto  remained  blank  : — 

A  Monsieur, 

Monsieur  Gerbeau,  ancien  negotiant, 

5,  Rue  Pave'e,  au  Marais, 

Paris. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  he  to  Pascal,  when  he  joined  the  young  engineer 
again.  "  I  leave  you  in  tete-a-tete,  with  your  recollection  of  the  beautiful 
Antoinette.  I  shall  post  my  letter  on  the  way  home,  and  I  shall  try  to 
dream  that  I  have  found  an  Antoinette  for  myself. " 

Lorilleux  certainly  had  no  remorse  for  the  infamous  treachery  he  was 


L08  fHB    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

perpetrating.  Indeed,  in  his  eyes  Pascal's  conduct  would  have  justified 
still  more  perfidious  conduct.  However,  the  blow  which  had  befallen 
the  doctor  was  so  recent  that  his  features  wore  an  unwonted  expression. 
He  was  master  of  himself,  undoubtedly,  and  yet  his  face,  usually  so 
pale,  seemed  livid.  His  unceasing  efforts  at  self-control  caused  drops  of 
perspiration  to  pearl  down  his  temples,  and  his  arm  trembled  as  ha 
advanced  to  shake  his  friend  by  the  hand. 

"  There's  something  unusual  about  you  to-night,"  said  Pascal,  looking 
at  him  fixedly.     "  Does  anything  worry  you,  or  don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  answered  Lorilleux,  with  marvellous  affectation 
of  calmness.      "  I  never  felt  myself  in  better  health." 

He  then  took  a  hurried  leave,  for  he  was  anxious  to  be  alone.  Those 
two  letters  seemed  to  burn  him. 

On  reaching  the  letter-box  he  paused  and  reflected.  "  If  I  post  that 
note  to  M.  Gerbeau  to-night,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  the  cotton- 
spinner  will  certainly  shut  his  door  in  Pascal's  face — at  all  events,  it's 
probable  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it's  probable  that  Pascal  will  have 
found  some  means  of  having  an  explanation,  and  then  they  might  possibly 
become  reconciled.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  allow  M.  Divorne  time  to 
arrive  in  Paris,  the  two  fathers  will  have  a  set  to,  and,  being  equally 
enraged,  they  will  so  muddle  the  cards  that  this  marriage  will  become 
altogether  impossible.  A  couple  of  days  must  elapse  before  M.  Divorne 
can  receive  this  note,  and  then  he  will  require  a  couple  more  to  reach 
Paris,  so  I  had  better  defer  posting  my  missive  to  M.  Gerbeau  for 
another  three  or  four  days." 

So  saying,  he  slipped  the  note  for  Pascal's  father  into  the  box,  assured 
himself  that  the  letter  for  Antoinette's  father  was  still  in  his  pocket, 
and  strolled  home  as  happy  as  Titus  was  when  he  had  not  lost  his  day. 


VIII. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  Pascal,  on  foot  since  daybreak, 
was  paciug  his  apartment  with  a  measure  in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  impossible  ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  took  the  length  and  breadth 
of  one  of  the  rooms.  "  We  can't  live  here.  It's  altogether  too  small. 
Even  if  I  set  up  the  partitions  which  formerly  divided  my  apartment 
into  seven  rooms,  I  certainly  couldn't  increase  its  size  by  a  single  inch, 
whatever  my  landlord  may  think  to  the  contrary.  I  must  try  and  find 
something  else.  What  a  pity  !  For  I  shall  certainly  regret  my  view 
on  the  square,  although,  by  way  of  compensation,  my  eyes  will  of  course 
be  spared  the  sight  of  that  hideous  Theatre  Lyrique,  with  its  roof  which 
looks  like  the  top  of  a  travelling  trunk  !  " 

At  this  moment  his  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  a  most  extraordinary 
occurrence.  There  came  a  ring  at  the  bell,  which  of  itself  was  by  no 
means  remarkable,  but  when  the  front  door  was  opened,  who  of  all 
persons  in  the  world  should  present  themselves  to  Pascal's  astonished 
gaze,  but  his  father — M.  Divorne,  senior,  just  arrived  from  Lannion. 

"  What,  you,  father  ?  "  ejaculated  the  young  engineer,  who,  in  hia 
surprise,  let  his  measure  fall  to  the  ground. 

"Yes,  myself  in  person,"  answered  the  solicitor.     "But  before  any- 


THE,  MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  109 

thing  else,  one  word — only  one.     Is  it  true  ?     Are  you  really  going  to 
marry  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is.     Why,  I  wrote  it  to  you." 

"  And  by  the  agency  of  one  of  those  fellows  who  deal  in  dowries?  " 

Pascal  looked  at  his  father  in  amazement.  He  had  carefully  abstained 
from  mentioning  M.  de  Saint-Roch's  name  in  his  letter  to  Lannion  ;  so 
that  his  astonishment  and  annoyance  were  great  at  finding  his  father  so 
well  informed.  However,  he  did  not  for  a  moment  think  of  denying  the 
truth,  for  he  considered  that  he  might  fearlessly  confide  in  his  father. 
"  It's  true,"  he  answered. 

"You  unfortunate  fellow  !  " 

"  But  wait  and  let  me  tell  you  how  the  thing  came  about.  It  began 
as  a  joke,  I  admit,  but  the  epilogue  is  serious  enough,  and  I  shall  be 
indebted  to  it  for  my  happiness." 

Pascal's  narrative  was  of  some  length,  for  he  did  not  omit  to  mention 
the  most  insignificant  incidents  ;  but  M.  Divorne  listened  with  all  due 
patience — such  indeed  as  he  was  accustomed  to  exercise  when  a  client 
came  to  intrust  him  with  a  somewhat  complicated  suit  at  law. 

"  Poor  fellow  I  "  exclaimed  the  solicitor,  when  his  son  had  at  last  con- 
cluded. "  And  you  didn't  see  the  trap — you  didn't  realise  that  you 
were  being  duped  by  an  artful  comedy  ?  " 

"  But,  father,  it  seems  to  me  that  chance  alone  ." 

"  Chance,  indeed  !  What,  you  believe  in  chance  !  I  always  thought 
you  to  be  more  matter-of-fact.  Can't  you  realise  that  those  folks  are 
endowed  with  some  little  cunning  ?  Why,  if  they  were  not  artful  who 
could  they  hope  to  ensnare  ?  I  will  admit  that  this  little  affair  was 
schemed  out  rather  ingeniously,  and  a  cleverer  fellow  than  yourself 
might  have  been  caught  in  the  trap.  But  an  old  solicitor  like  myseli 
can't  be  so  easily  deceived,  and  fortunately  I'm  here." 

The  solicitor's  words  had  sufficed  to  awaken  suspicion  in  Pascal's 
mind.  Hitherto  he  had  not  thought  of  doubting  or  suspecting,  whereas 
now,  he  felt  himself  a  prey  to  vague  misgivings.  Still  he  tried  to  defend 
the  Gerbeau  family. 

"Come,  come,"  said  his  father,  interrupting  him.  "Just  tell  me 
what  you  know  about  these  people.  Whom  have  you  questioned  ?  Who 
has  answered  for  them  ?  Why,  all  your  information  has  been  derived 
from  a  couple  of  charlatans  who  were  anxious  to  entrap  you,  from  a 
pair  of  rogues  who  were  bent  on  finding  a  husband  for  the  daughter  of 
a  family  of  questionable  repute,  no  doubt,  and  certainly  ruined. " 

"Oh  !  ruined  !" 

"  But  you  yourself  wrote  and  said  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your 
assistance  M.  Gerbeau  would  probably  have  gone  to  the  dogs.  You  said 
he  was  engaged  in  some  disastrous  speculation,  and  how  can  you  tell 
that  he  hasn't  other  affairs  of  the  same  kind  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  if  it  were  only  a  question  of  money  I'm  rich  enough  for  both 
of  us." 

"Well,  I'll  admit  that  he's  rich,  very  rich  if  you  like,  but  does  that 
prove  he's  an  honest  man  ?  Why,  I  myself  know  many  a  millionaire 
who's  a  scoundrel.  Merely  by  examining  the  manner  in  which  these 
folks  have  behaved  in  this  affair,  I  can  almost  prophesy  that  you  wil] 
have  to  give  up  all  idea  of  this  marriage. " 


110  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

Pascal  made  no  answer.  Whilst  he  listened  to  his  father  it  seemed 
as  if  scales  were  falling  from  his  eyes.  Had  he  not  acted  imprudently, 
with  undue  precipitation  ?  Ought  he  not  rather  have  made  searching 
inquiries  concerning  the Gerbeau family,  its  antecedents,  honourablenesa, 
and  position  ? 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  resumed  the  solicitor  ;  "let  us  reason 
a  bit.  When  an  honourable  man  wishes  to  find  a  husband  for  his 
daughter,  what  does  he  generally  do  !  Does  he  apply  to  a  matrimonial 
agent,  to  a  monsieur — what's  his  name  ?  " 

"Saint-Roch." 

"  Saint- Roch  let  it  be.  Come,  suppose  you  had  a  daughter,  should 
you  act  like  that  !  No,  certainly  not.  Well  then,  that  ought  to  open 
your  eyes.  And  besides,  how  were  you  introduced  into  this  family  * 
Didn't  Gerbeau  and  his  wife  receive  you  at  once,  without  inquiries  or 
references,  contenting  themselves  with  the  '  word  '  of  an  accomplice  V 
You  entered  their  house  like  a  beggar  enters  a  church,  and  you  were  at 
once  allowed  to  pay  your  court  to  the  daughter  !  Why,  'pon  my  word 
those  folks.  ." 

"  But  father,  they  go  into  decent  society.  I  first  saw  the  mother  and 
the  daughter  at  an  entertainment  given  by  a  judge  who  had  retired 
from  the  bench," 

"What,  do  you  still  believe  in  that  retired  judge?  A  judge  who 
counts  that  chevalier  of  yours  among  his  friends  !  Poor  fellow  !  Why, 
you  danced  at  some  ball  got  up  for  the  occasion,  and  attended  by  folks 
who  were  paid  so  much  for  their  trouble." 

"  Oh  !  father,  I'm  not  a  bad  judge  of  faces,  and  I  can  assure  you — " 

"  Pooh  !  bosh  !  Don't  you  know  that  scamps  with  honest  faces  can 
be  hired  easily  enough  for  occasions  like  that,  providing  yon  pay  them 
their  price.  But,  come,  if  you  like  I'll  suppose  that  you  are  right  on 
all  these  points.  We'll  say  that  the  Gerbeau  family  is  rich  and  honour- 
able— extremely  honourable.  Let  it  be  so.  However,  then  it  must  be 
the  daughter  who — " 

"0  father!"  cried  Pascal  vehemently — these  words  had  indeed 
pierced  his  heart — "  0  father,  don't  talk  like  that.  You  don't  know 
how  pure  and  beautiful  she  is.  If  you  only  knew  her  you  would  at  once 
admit  your  mistake  and  the  injustice  of  what  you  say.  You  must  see 
her.     You  cannot  but  admire  her  innocent  expression  and  candid  eyes." 

M.  Divorne  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Eh!"  said  he.  "  Why,  I'm 
surprised  to  hear  you  talking  like  that.  You  must  be  thirty  years  old 
or  more,  and  when  I  was  only  eighteen  I  already  knew  what  little 
reliance  a  man  could  put  in  "  an  innocent  expression  and  candid  eyes  ! " 
So  you  still  fancy  that  a  pair  of  beautiful  eyes  are  the  mirror  of  a  girl's 
mind.  Dear  me,  I  had  no  idea  you  were  a  prey  to  such  illusions.  Don't 
you  know  that  a  woman  can  make  her  eyes  say  whatever  she  chooses     .  ." 

"  But  I  love  her,"  exclaimed  Pascal  with  increased  vehemence;  "I 
love  her." 

"  What,  is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  "  rejoined  M.  Divorne.  "  Ah,  my  poor 
fellow  1  I'm  afraid  that  there  is  no  hope.  However,  before  taking  a 
decision,  we  must  make  inquiries  and  obtain  information,  and  I  will 
undertake  to  do  all  that  before  the  day  is  over.  But,  first  of  all,  give 
me  something  to  eat,  for  I'm  fairly  dying  of  hunger." 


THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  Ill 

Daring    breakfast    the    solicitor    endeavoured    to   console  his  son. 

Come,"  said  he,  "don't  be  so  disconsolate,  Pascal.  We'll  find  you 
another  wife.  Your  mother  had  one  all  ready  for  you,  and  she  was 
greatly  distressed  on  reading  in  your  letter  that  you  meant  to  marry  in 
Paris.  If  you  had  only  consulted  her,  all  this  wouldn't  have  happened. 
You  would  have  come  to  Lannion  and  have  seen  the  young  girl  she  had 
chosen  for  you.  I'm  sure  you  would  have  fallen  in  love  with  her. 
However,  everything  is  not  lost.  If  this  marriage  falls  through,  you 
shall  come  home  with  me  and  we'll  introduce  you  to  your  mother's 
protege'." 

"  Oh,  I  could  never  love  any  one  but  Antoinette,"  sighed  Pascal  sadly. 

"Really?"  exclaimed  the  solicitor  shaking  his  head.  "So  it  is  so 
very  serious.  Dear  me  !  Well,  at  all  events  you  sha'n't  long  remain  in 
uncertainty.  Before  to-night  I  will  have  discovered  the  truth.  Please 
have  a  cab  fetched,  and  just  give  me  the  addresses  of  those  two  matri- 
monial agents,  as  well  as  M.  Gerbeau's.  By  the  way,  are  you  acquainted 
with  any  one  who  knows  the  family — a  friend  or  an  enemy  of  theirs — 
it's  all  the  same." 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  am.     I  don't  know  any  of  their  set." 

"Wonderful!  Really  you  are  an  extraordinary  fellow  !  And  yet  it 
would  be  very  desirable  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  some  one  who 
knows  them.     Think  a  bit,  perhaps  you  remember  somebody." 

"  Oh  it's  of  no  use  thinking.  I  really  know  no  one,  excepting  their 
notary — " 

"  Their  notary  !  What,  you  know  the  notary  who  attends  to  th« 
interests  of  the  Gerbeau  family,  and  you  didn't  say  so  before  ?  And 
you  haven't  ever  thought  of  applying  to  him  ?  But,  my  dear  fellow, 
when  it's  a  question  of  matrimony,  a  notary  is  the  right  source  of  infor- 
mation, the  only  proper  person  to  consult.  Notaries  were  expressly 
instituted  for  that  purpose.     Come,  tell  me  his  name,  quick  !  " 

"  His  name  is  Bertaud." 

"  Bertaud — Bertaud —  No,  I  don't  know  him;  but  never  mind. 
His  position  suffices.  He's  either  a  friend  of  mine  or  else  he  ought  to 
be  one  ;  all  legal  officials  are  my  friends.  We  are  colleagues  or  some- 
thing like  it.  Well,  I  shall  commence  my  round  by  calling  upon  him ; 
so  now  good-bye,  and  don't  worry  yourself  while  I'm  away." 

If  M.  Divorne  had  imagined  that  the  information  he  was  going  in 
quest  of  would  prove  passable,  much  less  satisfactory,  he  would  certainly 
never  have  undertaken  this  investigation.  In  preference,  he  would 
simply  have  told  Pascal  that  he  quite  disapproved  of  the  match,  and 
have  profited  of  his  son's  surprise  to  wring  from  him  the  promise  that  he 
-would  not  act  contrary  to  paternal  advice.  But  he  was  in  expectation 
of  learning  some  scandalous  particulars  concerning  this  M.  Gerbeau, 
who  offered  his  daughter  for  sale  through  the  medium  of  a  matrimonial 
agent.  He  anticipated  being  favoured  with  some  strange  confidential 
revelations,  and  the  idea  so  pleased  him  that  he  positively  chuckled  as 
he  got  into  his  cab.  He  was  indeed  delighted  ;  for  on  leaving  Lannion 
he  had  promised  his  wife  that  he  would  prevent  this  absurd  marriage 
from  taking  place,  and  now  it  would  be  broken  off,  thanks  to  the  mere 
weight  of  evidence,  and  without  his  having  to  exercise  the  least  degree 
of  paternal  authority.     Pascal  would  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  hia 


112  THK    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

action,  but,  on  the  contrary,  must  feel  grateful  for  his  services.  Had  he 
not  evinced  all  due  sympathy  for  his  son,  had  he  not  seemingly  entered 
into  his  ideas,  postponing  all  decision  on  the  subject  until  after  this  in- 
quiry, which  was  bound  to  show  that  such  a  marriage  was  a  sheer  im- 
possibility. So  soliloquised  the  solicitor  when,  after  alighting  from  his 
vehicle,  he  climbed  the  stairs  leading  to  M.  Bertaud's  office. 

Pascal  sat  by  his  fireside  overwhelmed  with  despair.  Had  he  really 
been  duped,  as  his  father  opined  ?  Appearances  were  certainly  in  the 
solicitor's  favour,  and  it  was,  after  all,  but  small  consolation  to  reflect 
that  appearances  are  at  times  deceitful.  How  did  it  happen  that 
Mademoiselle  Gerbeau's  name  had  been  included  in  the  list  of  heiresses 
figuring  on  Saint- Roch's  hieroglyphical  registers  ?  Plainly  enough  there 
was  some  mysterious  reason,  but  what  could  it  be  ?  Ah,  ne  had  made 
a  grand  mistake  in  carrying  matters  so  far,  without  making  the  least 
inquiry  !  He  had  blindly  trusted  Saint-Roch  and  that  arrant  knave 
the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas.  Such  conduct  was  truly  worthy  of  a  simpleton. 
Thus  experience  and  reason  both  told  him  that  his  father  was  in  the 
right ;  and  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  in  love,  and  so,  whilst  his 
mind  espoused  the  solicitor's  views,  his  heart  warmly  pleaded  in  favour 
of  Antoinette. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reflections,  he  was  suddenly  startled  by  the  noise 
of  a  dispute  in  the  ante-room,  and  a  moment  afterwards  the  door  opened, 
and  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas,  in  defiance  of  the  orders  which  had  been  given 
to  the  servant  to  admit  no  one,  literally  bounded  into  Pascal's  presence. 
Our  hero's  first  impulse  was  to  spring  at  the  chevalier's  throat  and 
strangle  him,  but  fortunately  he  restrained  himself,  and  indeed  his  anger 
died  away  when  he  beheld  the  plight  of  M.  de  Saint-Roch's  friend  and 
agent. 

Poor  Chevalier  !  He  looked  ten  years  older  than  usual.  In  a  single 
night  care  had  impressed  deep  wrinkles  on  his  brow.  He,  who  had  held 
himself  so  upright  the  day  before,  was  now  as  bent  as  if  he  carried  a 
weighty  burden  on  his  back.  He  was  no  longer  irreproachably  dressed. 
His  neck-tie  was  sadly  creased  and  tumbled,  and  his  boots  were  dirty 
with  mud.  As  a  rule,  the  few  hairs  remaining  to  him  were  most 
symmetrically  arranged,  but  now,  alas  !  they  straggled  here  and  there, 
or  stood  on  end  like  the  remaining  feathers  of  a  fowl  almost  completely 
plucked. 

He  must  have  received  a  terrible  blow,  for  he  looked  almost  aa 
afflicted  as  Pascal.  There  was  a  mournful  gleam  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
voice  quivered  with  profound  sorrow  as  he  piteously  exclaimed,  "  Ah  ! 
It's  all  lost.  .  .  But  you  know  of  the  misfortune.  I  can  see  it  by 
your  sadness."  And,  as  if  overcome  with  grief,  he  thereupon  sank  into 
the  arm-chair  nearest  to  him. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Pascal.     "  My  father's  arrival.  .      " 

"Your  father,  indeed  !  Oh,  he's  not  in  question.  But  haven't  you 
received  M.  Gerbeau's  letter?" 

"Several  letters  have  come  for  me,"  answered  Pascal,  "but  I  had 
not  thought  of  opening  them.  They  are  lying  there,  on  the  mantel- 
shelf." 

Making  a  great  effort  the  chevalier  rose  to  his  feet,  approached  the 
chimney-piece,  and  taking  up  Pascal's   correspondence  searched  for  a 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  113 

moment  among  the  letters,  newspapers,  and  prospectuses  which   had 
arrived  by  the  morning's  post. 

"Ah  !  here's  Gerbeau's  letter,"  he  exclaimed  at  last;  "I  recognise 
his  hand-writing.  You  will  allow  me,  eh?"  And  without  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  tore  open  the  envelope  and  glanced  at  the  missive  it 
contained. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  over,"  he  remarked  sadly,  when  he  had'finished  his  per- 
usal:"! know  Gerbeau  by  heart.  He  would  rather  die  than  confess 
his  mistake.  Come,  read  yourself  "—and  so  saying,  the  chevalier  handed 
the  letter  to  Pascal.  "You  will  see  what  he  says.  Above  all,  try  and 
keep  calm." 

To  all  appearance  this  last  advice  was  not  superfluous,  for  M.  Gerbeau 
had  written  under  the  influence  of  violent  anger,  and  had  certainly  not 
measured  his  words.  "  You  need  not  take  the  trouble,"  he  wrote,  "  to 
present  yourself,  monsieur,  at  my  hous»  again.  In  future  you  will  not 
be  received.  I  know  everything.  I  am  acquainted  with  your  perfidious 
devices  to  win  my  confidence.  I  know  who  are  the  odious  accomplices 
who  obtained  you  a  footing  in  my  house,  and  I  am  equally  aware  that 
you  were  expelled  from  the  Ecole  des  Ponts  et  Chauss^es.  I  bitterly 
regret  being  indebted  to  you  in  my  business  affairs.  You  may 
fix  the  price  of  your  assistance,  yourself.  Ask  for  half  of  my  fortune  if 
you  choose,  but  it  would  be  useless  for  you  to  think  of  my  daughter  for 
another  moment." 

Pascal  read  this  insulting  epistle  very  slowly.  It  is  true  that  he  did 
not  understand  much  of  it,  but  its  sense  and  tenour  gave  him  little  con- 
cern. He  was  most  preoccupied  in  thinking  of  the  motive  which  had 
induced  M.  Gerbeau  to  take  this  course. 

"  Is  it  a  comedy  ?"  he  asked  himself  ;  "but  if  so,  what  is  the  reason  of 
all  this  acting  ?  Perhaps  Gerbeau  behaves  in  this  fashion,  because  he  is 
anxious  to  anticipate  a  rupture,  to  forestall  the  inquiry  which  my  father 
has  commenced.  But  then  how  can  he  have  heard  of  my  father's  arrival 
in  Paris?" 

Pascal  tortured  his  brain  in  vain.  He  could  think  of  no  satisfactory 
solution  of  the  problem.  At  last,  he  quietly  laid  the  letter  on  the  table, 
and  M.  de  Jeuflas,  who  was  scrutinizing  him,  and  expecting  an 
outburst  of  rage  every  moment,  could  not  restrain  an  exclaimation  of 
surprise,  at  what,  despite  his  own  advice,  he  considered,  under  the 
circumstances,  to  be  most  extraordinary  calmness. 

"Well !"  asked  the  chevalier  after  a  brief  pause,  "what  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"What  can  I  say?  M.  Gerbeau  has  no  doubt  gone  mad.  He  writes 
me  an  insulting  letter,  but  Heaven  only  knows  why  !  " 

"  What  !  don't  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me.  I  see  that  he  no  longer  consents  to  my  marriage  with 
his  daughter  ;  but  that's  all  I  see.  It  really  wasn't  worth  his  while  to 
offer  her  to  me  through  M.  de  Saint  Roch's  agency. "_ 

' '  But,  my  dear  sir,  if  he  withdraws  his  consent  it  is  precisely  because 
he  has  become  acquainted  with  Saint  Roch's  interest  in  the  affair." 

"Come  now,  that's  really  too  much  to  swallow  !"  rejoined  Pascai. 
"  Do  you  hope  to  make  me  believe  that  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau's  name 
was  on  your  friend's  registers  without  her  father's  knowledge  !    And 


114  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

•  with  documentary  evidence  in  her  favour,'  to  use  Saint  Roch's  own 
words  ! " 

"I  swear  to  you  that  he  didn't  know  of  it  ! " 

' '  Then  I  understand  nothing  at  all  of  the  affair. " 

"And  yet  it's  very  simple  !  In  Saint  Roch's  matrimonial  negocia- 
tions  it  almost  always  happens  that  one  of  the  parties  is  ignorant  of  his 
participation  in  the  affair.  Did  you  imagine  that  he  knows  all  the 
people  he  marries  ?  Far  from  it — but  he  has  agents,  co-operators,  who 
work  for  him,  obtain  the  information  he  requires,  and — " 

"And  share  the  commission  with  him,  eh?  Come,  that's  capital! 
So,  chevalier,  you  are  one  of  the  '  co-operators  ? '  A  very  pretty  term  ! 
Let  me  congratulate  you  !  " 

Pascal's  sardonic  glance  called  a  flush  to  poor  Jeuflas's  cheeks,  and  for 
a  moment  he  remained  silent,  quite  out  of  countenance.  Then  suddenly 
gaining  courage  he  exclaimed,  "  Well,  yes.  I  am  one  of  Saint  Roch's 
agents.  A  man  must  live,  and  after  all  I  know  of  worse  professions. 
If  there  be  any  shame  about  it,  1  share  that  shame  with  many  a  man 
who  is  decorated,  and  with  many  and  many  devout  old  ladies  who  are 
highly  esteemed  and  honoured  !  Ah,  I  am  acquainted  with  a  good 
many  people  whom  you  would  never,  for  one  moment,  imagine  to  be  Saint 
Roch's  agents.     But  after  all,  what's  the  harm  when  a  man  acts  loyally?" 

"Oh  !  loyally!"  interrupted  Pascal. 

"  Yes  loyally.  I  can  easily  explain  to  you  the  mechanism  of  Saint 
Roch's  profession.  He  has  a  number  of  agents — myself,  for  instance. 
I  draw  up  a  list  of  all  the  marriageable  young  ladies  with  whose  families 
I  am  acquainted.  I  obtain  full  and  precise  information  concerning  theni 
and  their  parents,  their  morality,  fortune,  expectations,  and  so  on.  I 
do  the  same  as  regards  all  the  eligible  bachelors.  I  know  and  take  all 
this  information  to  Saint  Roch.  His  other  co-operators  act  in  the  same 
manner.  He  copies  our  lists  into  his  registers,  and  can  then  offer 
husbands  or  wives  as  the  case  may  be,  and  without  the  interested  parties 
having  any  knowledge  whatever  of  his  agency.  This  is  precisely  what 
happened  as  regards  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau.  Sometimes,  indeed,  mar- 
riages are  concluded  without  either  party  applying  to  Saint  Roch — so 
skilfully  are  matters  managed.  In  that  case  everything  is  done  by  his 
agents  whom  he  places  in  communication  with  each  other." 

Pascal  still  retained  the  same  sad  look  ;  but  to  say  the  truth  he  was 
inwardly  delighted.  He  would  willingly  have  embraced  the  matri- 
monial co-operator,  for  he  was  confident  in  his  veracity.  The  afflicted 
chevalier's  tone  and  manners  were  quite  above  affectation.  So  thus 
hope  dawned  once  more  in  our  hero's  mind.  "After  all,"  thought  he, 
"  Antoinette  is  perhaps  not  lost  to  me." 

"Now,"  said  he  to  the  chevalier,  "Do  you  know  how  M.  Gerbeau 
was  informed  of  all  this?  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before.  He  received  an  anonymous  letter 
yesterday." 

"  An  anonymous  letter  !  " 

"Yes,  indeed  ;  and  what  makes  matters  worse,  is  that  it  must  have 
come  from  a  friend  of  yours." 

"A  friend  of  mine  !  "  exclaimed  Pascal  indignantly.  "I  would  have 
you  know  that  my  friends  are  above  such  infamous  actions," 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  115 

''  Well,  it  must  have  come  from  some  one  whom  you  receive,  for 
inside  the  anonymous  missive  Gerbeau  found  the  note  which  Saint  Roch 
wrote  to  you  warning  you  of  my  first  visit." 

"  That's  impossible  ! "  cried  Pascal,  springing  towards  his  writing-table, 
where  he  began  to  search  for  the  note  in  question.  But  it  was  in  vain 
that  he  ferreted  among  his  papers,  turned  out  all  his  drawers  and  emptied 
every  portfolio — Saint  Roch's  note  was  not  to  be  found. 

At  last  he  returned  to  his  seat,  looking  extremely  discouraged  and  per- 
plexed. "It's  incredible!"  he  exclaimed.  "An  anonymous  letter! 
But  now  I  think  of  it,  who  can  have  warned  my  father  ?  " 

"Ah!"  replied  the  chevalier.  "You  have  some  very  perfidious 
enemy—" 

"Oh,  I'll  unmask  him.  If  I  could  only  see  that  letter  sent  to  M. 
Gerbeau — " 

"  Go  and  ask  him  for  it  if  you  like  "  said  M.  de  Jeuflas  in  a  mournful 
tone.  "For  my  own  part  I  lack  the  courage.  He  treated  me  most 
shamefully  this  morning.     He  almost  kicked  me  out  of  doors." 

"Eh,  but  how  the  deuce  is  it  that  a  man  like  you  accepts  employ- 
ment from  a  matrimonial  agent  1  " 

"How  ?  Ah,  monsieur,  poverty — you  forget  poverty — I  was  rich  once, 
and  now  I'm  ruined  ?  A  man  can't  work  at  my  age,  and  besides  what 
could  I  do?" 

"  Poor  chevalier  !  I  really  pity  you.  " 

"At  all  events  don't  scoff  at  me.  This  affair  with  Gerbeau  puts  the 
finishing  touch  to  my  misfortunes.  Heaven  knows  what  will  happen  if 
it  is  noised  about.  My  honour,  credit,  and  good  repute  will  all  be  lost. 
Every  door  will  be  closed  against  me." 

"Well,  come  what  may,"  exclaimed  Pascal,  "I  can  promise  you  that 
for  my  part  I  will  keep  your  connection  with  the  affair  a  perfect  secret." 

' '  Eh,  but  Gerbeau — will  Gerbeau  remain  silent  ?  He  ordered  me  out 
of  his  presence  this  morning — me,  the  Chevalier  de  Jeuflas  !  What  a  dis- 
grace !     By  this  time  he  has  no  doubt  told  the  story  to  a  score  of  persons. " 

"I  may  be  mistaken"  answered  Pascal.  "But  I  fancy  that  M. 
Gerbeau  will  rather  keep  the  matter  secret.  Remember,  he  has  to  think 
of  his  daughter's  interests  and  reputation.  You  are  alarming  yourself 
unnecessarily,  my  poor  chevalier." 

Despite  all  his  efforts,  however,  the  young  engineer  could  not  bring  a 
smile  to  the  unfortunate  co-operator's  lips.  Dismal  thoughts  filled  his 
mind  and  he  was  but  the  shadow  of  his  former  self.  When  he  at  last 
withdrew  he  pressed  Pascal's  hand  most  affectionately,  and  his  last  words 
were  a  piece  of  advice — 

"You  have  some  very  dangerous  enemy,"  he  said.  "Be  upon  your 
guard." 

This  recommendation  was  at  least  superfluous.  Threatened  in  his  love, 
Pascal  was  firmly  resolved  to  make  every  effort  to  discover  the  scoundrel 
who  had  thus  betrayed  his  friendship.  Perhaps  M.  Gerbeau  would  not 
recall  his  decision,  and  then  the  young  engineer  must  bid  good-bye  to  all 
hopes  of  future  happiness.  But  at  all  events,  he  was  determined  to  have 
his  revenge ! 


lib  THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOfi. 


IX. 


Seated  at  his  writing-table,  in  front  of  the  famous  green  cardboard 
boxes  which  contain  so  many  and  such  terrible  secrets,  with  his  registers 
inscribed  in  hieroglyphical  characters  spread  before  him,  the  illustrious 
Saint  Roch,  whose  eyes  gleamed  with  inspiration,  was  labouring  for  the 
happiness  of  humanity. 

The  Apostle  of  Matrimony  was  preparing  an  advertisement,  one  of 
these  superb  advertisements,  which,  printed  in  bold  type  on  the  fourth 
page  of  the  well  known  Boulevardian  organ,  "  L'Ami  de  la  Religion,"  at 
times  invest  that  periodical  with  an  amusing  feature.  The  Ambassador's 
task  was  replete  with  difficulties,  as  could  be  judged  by  the  numerous 
wasted  sheets  of  paper  strewn  before  him,  and  by  the  innumerable 
corrections  and  erasures  scattered  through  every  line  of  writing.  But 
it  should  be  noted  that  these  advertisements  constitute  the  serious  part 
of  the  illustrious  negotiator's  functions.  rLach  line  costs  him  a  consider- 
able sum,  and  dealers  in  publicity  have  cunning  little  instruments  with 
which  they  measure  space  to  a  nicety,  so  that  it  is  necessary  to  say  as 
much  as  is  feasible  in  the  smallest  possible  number  of  words.  This  is 
precisely  what  the  "propagator  and  initiator  of  marriage"  was  intent 
upon.  Moreover,  his  advertisement,  albeit  destined  to  soften  the  heart 
of  every  "  single  "  person  who  perused  it,  appealed  on  this  occasion  more 
particularly  to  fathers  of  families. 

"  Prudent  parents,"  said  this  singular  effusion,  "I  am  the  guardian 
of  family  honour.  It  was  I,  Saint  Roch — no  branch  offices — who  in- 
vented matrimony  forty  years  ago.  My  Laboratory  conducts  to  the 
Altar,  my  Protection  and  Good  Will  are  almost  equivalent  to  the  Sacra- 
ment. Do  your  daughters  embarrass  you  ?  Send  them  to  me  and  I  will 
provide  for  them  advantageously.  Write  to  me — legibly,  especially  as 
regards  your  names  and  addresses.  I  have  numerous  Sovereign  Princes, 
all  anxious  to  marry,  and  all  of  unimpeachable  honourability.  Fathers 
of  families  !     You  will  bless  me — me,  Saint  Roch — for " 

The  Ambassador  paused,  for  at  this  precise  moment  he  heard  an 
alarum  sounding  in  one  or  another  of  his  numerous  drawing-rooms.  He 
carefully  counted  six  vibrations,  and  then  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Ah  !  ah  !" 
said  he,  "  There's  a  client  in  the  pearl-grey  saloon  !  " 

With  these  words  he  slipped  the  unfinished  advertisement  into  a 
drawer,  and,  opening  a  cupboard,  drew  therefrom  a  blue-bell  coat  similar 
to  the  one  he  was  wearing,  with  this  difference  however,  that  the  latter 
was  almost  thread-bare,  whereas  the  garment  removed  from  the  cupboard 
was  bran  new.  As  soon  as  he  had  donned  this  immaculate  vestment — 
a  most  important  proceeding  in  view  of  matrimonial  negotiations— he 
approached  a  mirror  to  judge  of  his  appearance.  He  drew  his  Malines 
ruffles  half  over  his  hands,  arranged  the  frill  of  his  shirt  front,  disentangled 
his  watch  chains,  which  fell  like  glittering  cataracts  over  his  waistcoat, 
rubbed  the  precious  stones  of  his  rings  to  give  them  additional  brilliancy, 
and  finally,  with  a  coquettish  wave  of  the  head,  imparted  a  more  graceful 
aspect  to  his  curly  flaxen  wiff.     Then  after  giving  himself  a  last  charm- 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  117 

ing  smile  in  the  looking-glass,  he  hastened  to  the  pearl-grey  saloon  where 
"  the  client  "  was  no  doubt  growing  impatient. 

He  made  his  entry,  and  according  to  his  noble  and  affable  habit,  pro- 
ceeded to  salute  his  new  customer  in  the  most  graceful  style — that  is  in 
three  steps,  according  to  the  instructions  of  the  best  professors  of  deport- 
ment, with  his  heels  on  the  same  line,  his  toes  at  an  angle  of  forty 
degrees,  the  upper  part  of  his  body  bent  forward,  his  right  arm  grace- 
fully rounded  and  his  hand  at  the  height  of  his  chest.  He  was  perform- 
ing this  admirable  obeisance  for  the  second  time  and  was  even  preparing 
for  the  third  and  final  bow,  when  his  client,  whom  he  had  as  yet  scarcely 
seen,  abruptly  sprung  at  his  throat,  regardless  of  damaging  his  shirt 
frill,  and  vociferated  as  loud  as  he  could  :  "  You  rogue !  You 
scoundrel  1 " 

Poor  M.  de  Saint  Roch  was  terribly  frightened.  He  bounded  on  one 
side  and  endeavoured  to  get  the  table  between  himself  and  this  un- 
parliamentary visitor.  His  rapid  evolution  proved  successful,  but,  in 
executing  it,  his  coat  tails  came  in  contact  with  a  stand,  and  seven  or 
eight  ex-votos  in  china  were  overturned  and  shattered  on  the  floor. 

"  Ah  !  "  thought  the  Ambassador.  ' '  This  must  be  some  newly  married 
man  who  isn't  quite  pleased  with  his  bride.  Such  things  do  happen  at 
times,  but,  dear  me,  how  violent  he  seems.  I  ought  never  to  have 
married  some  poor  little  girl  to  such  a  hot-headed  individual  ! " 

M.  de  Saint  Roch  was  mistaken  in  his  surmise.  His  "  client  "  was  no 
bridegroom,  but  M.  Gerbeau  in  person.  Lorilleux's  anonymous  letter 
was  producing  its  effects,  and  the  retired  cotton-spinner  was  no  longer 
the  quiet  and  dignified  individual  with  whom  the  reader  is  acquainted, 
but  rather  a  tiger  let  loose.  He  had  been  enraged  almost  beyond  con- 
ception on  learning  that  his  daughter's  name  figured  on  M.  de  Saint 
Roch's  registers.  He  cared  little  whether  it  were  traced  in  ordinary 
handwriting  or  in  the  negociator's  vaunted  hieroglyph ical  characters. 
The  important  point  was  that  it  was  there,  and  he  had  determined  to 
cane  the  ambassador  for  his  impudent  and  unheard-of  presumption. 
Such  indeed  was  the  purpose  he  had  now  in  view. 

However,  having  entrenched  himself  behind  the  table,  the  Inventor 
of  Matrimony  drew  breath,  and  regained  a  little  courage.  ' '  I  warn  you," 
said  he  to  his  adversary,  "  I  warn  you  that  if  you  resort  to  violence 
again  I  shall  summon  my  servants.  Now,  if  you  wish  to  talk,  we'll 
talk,  but  softly,  mind.     First  of  all,  who  are  you,  and  what — " 

"  Who  I  am,  you  scoundrel  !  "  roared  the  retired  manufacturer. 
"  Who  I  am  indeed  !  Why,  I  am  a  father,  whose  daughter  you  have 
compromised,  you  infernal  rogue.  My  name  is  Gerbeau,  and  you  tried 
to  palm  off  upon  me  a  double-faced  customer  of  yours — a  fellow  named 
Pascal  Divorne  who  was  disgracefully  expelled  from  the  Ecole  des  Pouts 
et  Chaussees  !  " 

"  Keep  quiet !  "  shouted  M.  de  Saint  Roch  in  reply.  "Don't  dare  to 
insult  a  young  man  whose  little  finger  is  worth  more  than  your  whole 
person." 

"  Ah  !  you  insult  me,  do  you  ?  you  scoundrel !  "  rejoined  M.  Gerbeau. 
"  Wait  a  bit  !  Wait  a  bit  ! "  And  he  turned  swiftly  round  the  table  in 
hopes  of  catching  the  Ambassador,  but  his  designs  were  defeated,  for  M, 
de  Saint  Roch  proved  quite  as  agile  as  he  was  himself. 


118  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

In  the  meantime,  as  the  two  old  boys  raced  wildly  round  the  room, 
they  kept  up  a  fantastic  battle  of  words  in  angry,  panting  voices.  "  Who 
authorised  you  to  meddle  with  my  daughter's  marriage  ?  "  asked  M. 
Gerbeau. 

"  I  am  not  accountable  to  you  !" 

"  We'll  see  to  that.     I'll  go  to  law  for  redress." 

"What  do  I  care !  I  have  judgments  in  my  favour  which  sanction 
my  honourable  profession." 

At  last,  however,  fairly  tired  and  out  of  breath,  the  two  adversaries 
paused  ;  but  not  before  poor  M.  de  Saint  Roch's  dress  was  in  a  lament- 
able state  of  disorder.  His  three  gold  chains  hung  here  and  there  over 
his  breast.  His  frill  was  in  shreds,  one  of  his  Malines  ruffles  was  hall 
torn  away,  and  his  poetical  flaxen  wig  was  quite  askew. 

And  yet  the  illustrious  negociator  had  by  no  means  lost  his  brilliant 
gifts  of  speech.  On  the  contrary  he  proved  most  eloquent  in  his  efforts 
to  curb  and  conquer  enraged  M.  Gerbeau. 

"You  spoke  of  going  to  law,  sir,"  he  cried,  "but  would  it  not  be  my 
right  to  prosecute  you  for  your  unwarrantable  conduct?  You  have 
insulted  a  noble  profession,  you  have  slandered  my  sacerdotal  mission  !" 

"Scoundrel!"  growled  M.  Gerbeau  between  his  teeth,  as  he  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

"Other  people  have  tried  to  discredit  me  in  the  eyes  both  of  my  con- 
temporaries and  posterity  ;  but  I  have  obtained  due  reparation  from 
them.     Are  you  acquainted  with  the  judgments  in  my  favour  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  them." 

"  Have  you  read  the  speeches  made  by  my  counsel?" 

"  They  have  no  interest  for  me." 

"Have  you  perused  the  report,  drawn  up  by  eminent  jurisconsults, 
which  I  have  had  printed  at  my  own  expense?" 

"All  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question,"  testily  replied  M. 
Gerbeau,  although,  to  say  the  truth,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  the  excesses  to  which  anger  had  carried  him.  "  You  have 
been  daring  enough  to  mix  up  my  daughter's  name  in  your  scandalous 
transactions,  and  that's  a  thing  I  won't  tolerate.  Before  I  leave  this 
house,  I  mean  to  tear  out  of  your  register  the  page  where  my  daughter's 
name  is  inscribed.  I  forbid  you  to  occupy  yourself  about  her,  and 
I  require  your  formal  promise  and  unimpeachable  guarantees  to  that 
effect." 

"Be  it  so," rejoined  the  Ambassador.  "Follow  me  into  my  private 
room,  and  we  will  have  an  explanation. " 

After  commencing  in  this  stormy  fashion,  the  "explanation"  was 
bound  to  be  a  long  one,  and  indeed  it  threatened  to  prove  interminable. 
In  sober  truth  we  must,  however,  admit  that  never  in  his  life  before  had 
the  illustrious  negociator  been  so  winning,  so  eloquent,  and  so  pathetic. 
Oblivious  of  the  disorder  of  his  dress,  the  consciousness  of  which  on  any 
other  occasion  would  certainly  have  utterly  confused  him  and  stopped 
his  tongue,  he  piled  reasons  and  reasons  upon  reasons  ;  not  in  any  effort 
to  disculpate  himself,  be  it  remembered,  but  in  a  strenuous  endeavour  to 
convince  his  adversary. 

For,  in  spite  of  all  the  difficulties  of  the  situation,  he  still  hoped  to 
prevent  the  marriage  from  falling  through.     It  was  such  an  admirable 


THE   MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR.  119 

match  !  Bridegroom  and  bride  seemed  to  have  been  expressly  intended 
for  each  other.  He,  Saint  Roch,  knew  it  better  than  any  other  living 
soul. 

First  of  all  he  began  by  attacking  M.  Gerbeau's  prejudices ;  and  indeed, 
in  hopes  of  conquering  them  the  illustrious  renovator  of  matrimony  did 
not  hesitate  to  tear  aside  the  veil,  which  shrouds  his  sacred  profession 
in  mystery  for  profane  eyes.  He  explained  his  system,  he  described  the 
complicated  arrangements  of  his  house,  and  disclosed  all  the  ingenious 
machinery  of  his  calling.  He  vaunted  the  high  character  of  his  mission, 
and  insisted  on  the  undoubted  benefits  which  were  conferred  upon  society 
by  his  agency.  That  "Matrimonial  Profession"  which  he  had  founded, 
of  which  he  was  the  sole  real  exponent  and  representative,  was  a  blessing 
for  the  world  at  large.  It  was,  he  declared,  an  undisputable,  apparent 
proof  of  the  progress  of  civilisation.  It  had  its  place  beside  all  the  many 
wonderful  achievements  of  modern  science  and  research.  It  was  one  of 
the  glorious  conquests  of  our  age  of  enterprise,  just  like  steam-power, 
gas,  ready-made  clothes,  omnibuses  and  the  electric  telegraph. 

Thus  did  the  Ambassador  proceed,  and  warming  up  with  his  subject  he 
positively  waxed  sublime  with  eloquence  when  he  began  to  speak  of 
Pascal,  when  he  enumerated  all  the  young  engineer's  good  qualities  and 
attainments.  Young  M.  Divorne  was  so  frank  and  honest,  so  clever  and 
so  handsome,  so  wealthy,  and  yet  so  economical !  Surely  no  father — not 
even  the  most  difficult  to  please  in  all  the  world — could  hope  to  find  such 
a  rara  avis  for  his  son-in-law.  Carried  away  by  his  subject,  and  growing 
each  moment  more  and  more  anxious  to  convince  M.  Gerbeau,  the  Am- 
bassador positively  forgot  his  usual  habits  of  discretion.  Rather  than 
allow  a  slur  to  remain  on  Pascal's  character,  rather  than  have  it  believed 
that  the  young  engineer  had  been  expelled  from  the  Ecole  des  Ponts  et 
Chauss6es,  as  a  slanderous  anonymous  letter  asserted,  he  frankly  told 
Antoinette's  father  the  truth — namely  that  a  passing  love  affair,  long 
Bince  abandoned,  had  caused  Pascal  to  resign. 

But  despite  all  M.  de  Saint  Roch's  eloquence,  he  was  really  preaching 
in  the  desert.  M.  Gerbeau  remained  as  frigid  as  marble,  and  merely 
raised  his  voice  every  now  and  then  to  remind  the  negociator  of  the  object 
of  his  visit.  At  last  perceiving  that  the  Ambassador's  eloquence  did  not 
abate,  he  exclaimed:  "Come,  come,  that  will  do.  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  what  you  say  to  me  ;  or  rather,  to  say  the  truth,  I  believe  that 
you  have  some  very  strong  interest,  indeed,  in  wishing  to  marry  M. 
Divorne  to  my  daughter  !  " 

"  Eh  ? "  ejaculated  M.  de  Saint  Roch.  "  But  surely  notaries  also  have 
an  interest  in  trying  to  find  wives  and  husbands  for  their  clients." 

"No  doubt.  But  they  are  functionaries  instituted  by  law.  A  father 
knows  that  he  can  confide  in  them.     Their  probity  and  discretion—" 

"Their  discretion  !  "  exclaimed  the  Ambassador,  who  fancied  he  now 
saw  an  opportunity  to  strike  a  decisive  blow.  "  Their  discretion  !  Ah, 
monsieur,  I  see  that  you  are  not  acquainted  with  mine  !  And  yet  I  have 
spent  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  advertising  it  to  the  whole  world  ! 
A  secret  confided  to  me  is  as  safe — safer  even — than  money  confided  to 
the  Bank  of  France.  My  house  is  the  Confessional  box  of  humanity, 
the  tomb  of  the  secrets  of  the  universe.  Nothing  will  ever  transpire  of 
the  confidential  statements  made  to  me  !    Even  my  death  would  provoke 


120 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 


no  revelation,  for  letters,  registers,  notes,  information,  every  thing  will 
follow  me  to  the  tomb.  Ay,  to  the  tomb  !  My  profession  will  rest  with 
me  in  my  coffin.  I  have  never  had  a  pupil — never  apprenticed  any  one 
to  my  calling.  As  for  my  registers,  open  them,  decipher  them  if  you 
can  !  Cast  your  eyes  over  these  lists  of  heiresses — heiresses  otevery  part 
of  the  world — every  name,  every  note  is  indited  in  hierogylphical  char- 
acters, which  no  one  but  myself  can  undestand— " 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  an  alarum  coming  from  some  distant 
room  abruptly  interrupted  the  Ambassador.  He  listened,  and  counted 
five  distinct  vibrations.  "A  visitor  in  the  sky-blue  saloon!"  he 
muttered.     "  And  at  this  moment !     How  unfortunate  !  " 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  a  footman  rapped  at  the  door,  and  setting 
it  ajar  beckoned  to  M.  de  Saint  Roch. 

"  Excuse  me  for  just  one  moment,"  said  the  Ambassador  to  M. 
Gerbeau,  and  he  hurriedly  approached  the  servant. 

"There  is  a  gentleman  in  the  sky-blue  saloon,"  said  the  latter  in  an 
undertone. 

' '  I  know  it.  I'm  not  deaf.  I  heard  the  alarum  well  enough  !  " 
testily  rejoined  M.  de  Saint  Roch.  "It  was  most  improper  for  you  to 
come  and  disturb  me." 

"But  the  gentleman  is  most  furious,  sir.  He  wouldn't  wait,  and 
threatened  to  break  everything  in  the  place,  if  you  didn't  come  at  once. " 

"  The  deuce  !     What  kind  of  man  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  a  big  fellow  with  gold  spectacles — rather  old,  well  dressed,  and 
looking  as  if  he  came  from  the  provinces.     He  gave  me  his  card. " 

M.  de  Saint  Roch  took  hold  of  the  bit  of  pasteboard,  glanced  at  it. 
and  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation  of  heartfelt  joy. 

The  card  bore  this  superscription. 


Pierre  Divoene. 

Solicitor. 
Lannion. 


"Pascal's  father!"  ejaculated  the  matrimonial  agent.  " The  solicitor ! 
Heaven  has  sent  him  here  ! "  And  seized  with  one  of  those  sublime 
inspirations  which  in  the  midst  of  battle  guide  a  general  to  victory,  he 
pushed  the  footman  on  one  side  and  hurried  down  the  passage  leaving 
his  visitor,  M.  Gerbeau,  alone,  and  stupefied. 

M.  Divorne,  senior,  had  just  left  the  office  of  Bertaud,  the  notary, 
and  the  latter  had  given  him  such  unexpected,  such  satisfactory  informa- 
tion concerning  Antoinette's  family,  that  he  bitterly  regretted  having 
promised  his  wife  to  prevent  this  marriage  from  taking  place.  How- 
ever, he  had  given  his  word,  and  must  act  accordingly ;  so  that,  in  lieu 
of  solid  reasons,  based  on  fact,  he  would  have  to  exercise  his  paternal 
authority  and  peremptorily  refuse  his  consent  to  the  match.  Angered 
beyond  expression  at  being  reduced  to  this  course,  which  .he  had  so 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  121 

particularly  wished  to  avoid,  since  it  could  but  result  in  a  breach  with 
his  son,  he  had  hastened  to  the  Ambassador's  dwelling,  determined  at 
least  to  wreak  his  wrath  on  the  prime  mover  of  this  intrigue. 

As  such  was  his  state  of  mind,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  greeted  M. 
de  Saint  Roch  almost  as  aggressively  as  M.  Gerbeau  had  done.  But 
the  Ambassador  did  not  lose  time  in  superfluous  discourse.  Taking  the 
the  solicitor  by  the  arm,  and  all  but  pushing  him  forward,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  In  my  private  room,  sir,  in  my  private  room." 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  "laboratory"  was  reached,  he  turned  towards 
his  first  visitor  and  said,  "  I  have  the  honour  of  introducing  to  you,  M. 
Pierre  Divorne,  solicitor,  attached  to  the  court  of  Lannion,  and  M. 
Pascal's  father." 

Next,  wheeling  round  on  one  heel  with  all  his  customary  agility,  he 
confronted  the  lawyer  and  resumed  :  "I  present  to  you.  M.  Gerbeau, 
who  was  formerly  in  business  at  Roubaix,  and  who  is  Mademoiselle 
Antoinette's  father." 

Thus  introduced,  the  respective  parties  could  but  bow  to  each  other, 
but  they  did  so  coldly  and  stiffly  eneugh,  whilst  M.  de  Saint  Roch  went 
and  sat  himself  down  at  his  writing-table  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
no  further  interest  in  the  proceedings. 

A  pause  of  some  little  duration  ensued,  for  both  the  solicitor  and  the 
manufacturer  seemed  ill  at  ease  ;  but  at  last  they  both  began  to  speak 
at  the  same  time,  rattling  on  very  fastly  and  excitedly,  as  if  by  this 
means  they  each  hoped  to  reduce  the  other  to  silence  and  compel  him 
to  listen.  M.  Gerbeau,  who  had  not  gone  in  quest  of  information,  and 
who  still  fancied  that  he  had  been  duped,  was  naturally  enough  the 
more  irritated  of  the  two,  speaking  in  a  louder  key  and  constantly,  nay, 
almost  incessantly,  repeating  the  same  phrase.  "  I  won't  listen,  I  won't 
listen,  I  positively  decline  to  give  my  daughter  to  your  son." 

This  pertinacious  and  insulting  obstinacy  at  length  drove  M.  Divorne 
to  exasperation,  but  after  one  or  two  bursts  of  passion  he  grew  some- 
what calmer,  and  finally  wound  up  with  a  proposal  which  should  have 
been  made  in  the  firjst  instance  :  "  Let  us  go  together  to  your  notary's  " 
be  said,   "  and  have  an  explanation  there." 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  replied  M.  Gerbeau,  and  the  two  fathers  went  off — 
not  by  the  mysterious  portal  behind  the  pigeon-holes,  but  by  the  main 
door  of  the  apartment,  at  the  risk  of  meeting  any  other  "  client  "  who 
might  be  arriving,  and  without  so  much  as  bidding  M.  de  Saint  Roch 
"  good-bye." 

But  this  impoliteness  failed  to  affect  the  negociator.  "  They  are 
going  to  the  notary's,"  he  said  to  himself  while  he  gleefully  rubbed  his 
hands  together.  "  That's  a  good  sign.  Well,  I  have  had  trouble 
enough,  certainly  ;  but  I  fancy  I  can  consider  the  matter  as  settled. 
That  will  mean  ten  thousand  francs  at  least — and  making  due  allow- 
ance for  Jeuflas's  commission,  there  will  be  a  clear  profit  of  seven 
thousand." 

Then  turning  once  more  to  his  unfinished  advertisement — in  preparing 
which  he  had  been  so  brutally  interrupted,  he  proceeded  to  pen  the 
concluding  lines  :  "  What  especially  distinguishes  M.  de  Saint  Roch  ia 
that  he  is  never  guided  by  interest.  His  object  is  to  moralise  Humanity, 
and  his  method  iu  prosecuting  that  stupendous  task,  is  the  propagation 


122  THE    MATRIMONIAL   AMBASSADOR, 

of  Matrimony.     His  device  is  embodied  in  the  two  words  :  '  Mystery 
and  Disinterestedness.'  " 

So  far  as  his  visitors  were  concerned,  the  illustrious  negociator  pro- 
phesied correctly.  Everything  was  arranged  at  the  notary's  offioe. 
M.  Bertaud,  indeed,  was  one  of  those  legal  functionaries  who  recollect 
the  advice  given  by  a  most  distinguished  member  of  the  profession  to 
his  successor:  "Remember,  young  man,  that  a  notary  is  a  mediator." 
Thus  he  skilfully  intervened  in  the  discussion  and  appealed  to  the  reason 
of  M.  Gerbeau  who  refused  to  give  his  daughter  in  marriage,  and  to  the 
patience  of  M.  Divorne,  who  now  obstinately  demanded  that  young 
lady's  hand  for  Pascal.  At  last,  thanks  to  M.  Bertaud's  unctuous 
diplomacy,  an  arrangement  was  arrived  at.  After  five  hours'  discussion 
the  marriage  was  agreed  upon,  stipulated,  decided — the  contract  being 
almost  signed. 

Among  other  conditions,  it  was  specified  that  M.  Gerbeau  should  give 
his  daughter  three  hundred  thousand  francs  in  hard  cash.  This  was  at 
least  fifty  thousand  more  than  the  retired  manufacturer  wished  to  give, 
but  all  his  objections  were  silenced  both  by  the  notary  and  by  M. 
Divorne.  The  latter  in  seeking  to  swell  the  amount  of  his  daughter-in- 
law's  dowry,  fancied  that  he  was  acting  solely  in  his  son's  interest.  He 
was  blissfully  ignorant  of  the  nice  little  contract  with  M.  de  Saint  Roch. 
Finally,  the  date  of  the  marriage  was  fixed,  and  the  two  rival  fathers, 
now  the  best  of  friends,  left  M.  Bertaud's  office  arm-in-arm. 

M.  Divorne,  whose  ideas  were  quite  transformed,  was  now  all  eager- 
ness to  convey  the  happy  tidings  to  Pascal,  who,  although  considerably 
reassured  by  the  chevalier's  visit,  was  far  from  expecting  such  a  swift 
solution.  He  started  back  with  surprise  when  he  saw  his  father  arrive 
arm-in-arm  with  M.  Gerbeau  ;  but  he  soon  recovered  himself,  and  was 
then  rapidly  acquainted  with  what  had  taken  place  both  at  the 
Ambassador's  and  the  notary's.  It  so  happened,  that  after  all  he  was 
the  least  surprised  of  them  all. 

"Who  would  ever  have  expected  such  a  thing?"  repeated  M. 
Divorne,  who  was  quite  unable  to  explain  to  himself  how  it  happened 
that  he  had  so  totally  forgotten  the  solemn  promises  he  had  made  to  his 
wife. 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  said  M.  Gerbeau,  "  is  how  Pascal  can 
ever  have  had  the  incredible  idea  of  applying  to  that  charlatan  Saint 
Roch." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  answered  Pascal,  "I  can  swear  to  you  that  I  only 
went  to  him  for  a  joke.  I  never  imagined  for  one  moment  anything 
would  come  of  my  visit." 

"  As  if  matrimony  were  a  joking  matter  !  "  interrupted  M.  Divorne  in 
a  grave  voice,  "  why,  it's  playing  with  fire." 

"  But  no  one  would  ever  have  fancied  that  the  Ambassador  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  matter,"  remarked  Pascal,  "  if  a  friend  of  mine  had 
not  kindly  written  to  you  on  the  subject.  No  doubt  he  wished  to  in- 
jure me,  but  it  so  happens  that  he  has  done  me  a  very  great  service  in- 
deed.    I  should  like  to  know  whom  I  have  to  thank  for  this  result." 

"  For  that  you  must  see  the  handwriting,"  replied  M.  Gerbeau, 
"Here  is  the  letter  which/?  received." 

"And  here  is  mine,"  added  M.  Divorne, 


THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  123 

However,_the  handwriting  of  both  epistles  was  so  skilfully  disguised 
that  it  furnished  no  clue  to  the  truth.  Pascal  turned  the  two  anony- 
mous missives  over  and  over  in  his  hand,  trying  to  think  who  could 
have  had  a  motive  to  injure  him  in  this  fashion,  when  suddenly  he  per- 
ceived his  own  initials  "  P.  D."  stamped  in  the  corner  of  either  sheet  of 
paper. 

"Why,  good  Heavens,"  he  exclaimed,  "  These  letters  were  written 
here.     This  is  my^own  writing-paper. " 

"But  who  could  have  written  them?"  asked  M.  Gerbeau  and  the 
solicitor  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Ah  !  that's  more  than  I  can  tell,"  slowly  replied  Pascal ;  "  I  receive 
visits  from  so  many  friends." 

But,  at  the  same  time  the  young  engineer  reflected  to  himself  that 
Lantier  and  Lorilleux  were  the  only  two  people  who  could  possibly  have 
abstracted  the  note  by  which  Saint  Roch  announced  M.  de  Jeuflas's 
first  visit.  And  this  note,  be  it  remembered,  had  been  enclosed  in  the 
letter  to  M.  Gerbeau.  Yes,  the  culprit  was  either  Lantier  or  Lorilleux. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  At  that  same  moment  a  flash  of 
memory  reminded  Pascal  how  pale  and  embarrassed  his  friend  the  doctor 
had  looked  the  last  time  they  had  seen  each  other.  He  remembered, 
moreover,  that  Lorilleux  had  remained  for  some  time  alone  in  his  study, 
having  a  letter  to  write,  according  to  what  he  had  said  himself.  So 
Lorilleux  then  was  the  guilty  one.  Was  it  possible  ?  Ay,  not  merely 
possible,  but  morally  sure  and  certain. 

The  thought  that  he  had  been  deceived,  betrayed,  by  the  companion 
of  his  early  youth,  by  the  man  whom  he  had  always  fancied  to  be  his 
best  and  sincerest  friend,  caused  Pascal  a  bitter  pang.  A  man  may  be 
betrayed  by  the  woman  he  loves,  and  acute  suffering  will  assuredly  be 
his  lot ;  but  the  treason,  the  deceit  of  a  bosom  friend  is  still  harder  to 
bear,  for  it  is  even  less  expected.  And  yet  Pascal  carefully  abstained 
from  revealing  the  name  he  had  just  guessed.  Indignant  as  he  was,  he 
could  not  forget  his  old  friendship  for  Lorilleux,  and  the  idea  of  devoting 
his  old  college  chum  to  shame  and  contempt  for  evermore,  was  singularly 
repugnant  to  him.  And  besides,  his  silence  was  not  actuated  purely  by 
generosity ;  a  personal  motive  added  weight  to  the  course  he  took  :  he 
was  ashamed  of  having  to  admit  that  he  had  been  blindly  deceived  by 
Lorilleux's  spurious  protestations  of  interest  and  good  will.  Accordingly, 
when  after  a  long  pause  M.  Gerbeau  asked  him  :  "  Well,  have  you 
guessed?  Are  you  on  the  scent?"  he  quietly  replied,  "No,  I  have 
no  idea,  not  even  a  suspicion. " 

"  But  the  matter  ought  to  be  cleared  up,"  suggested  his  father.  "  If 
you  remain  in  uncertainty  you  will  become  suspicious  of  all  your  friends, 
and  that  will  be  most  unjust  for  the.  honest  ones." 

"Oh,  I  prefer  not  to  think  any  more  about  it,"  rejoined  Pascal  re- 
solutely, "  What  is  the  use  of  stirring  up  a  quagmire?"  And  crumpling 
the  letters  in  his  hands  he  threw  them  into  a  corner,  intending,  how- 
ever, to  pick  them  up  later  on  and  employ  them  in  confounding  and 
crushing  the  traitor  Lorilleux  at  their  very  next  interview  together. 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  exclaimed  M.  Gerbeau.  "  Let's  think  no  more  about 
it.  We'll  banish  the  whole  affair  from  our  minds.  Forgiveness  all 
rtund,  even  for  Saint  Roch  and  his  co-operator  Jeuflas.     For  myself,  I 


124  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

must  go  home   and  console  my  daughter,  whom  I  left  weeping  her  eyes 
out,  as  I  don't  mind  telling  you  now." 

Pascal  was  not  precisely  sorry  to  learn  that  Mademoiselle  Antoinette 
had  been  crying  for  his  sake,  and  no  doubt,  with  the  view  of  thanking 
his  future  father-in-law  for  the  admission,  he  embraced  him  with  all  his 
heart. 


Like  the  miner  who  prudently  withdraws  as  soon  as  he  has  applied  the 
match  which  is  to  ignite  his  train  of  powder,  Lorilleux  had  carefully  re- 
mained in  the  background  pending  the  explosion  of  his  "  anonymous  " 
bombshells.  It  was  on  the  morrow  of  this  eventful  day  when  Pascal's 
marriage  at  first  so  seriously  compromised  was  finally  decided  on,  that 
he  showed  himself  again  for  the  first  time.  To  conceal  his  apprehensions 
he  had  assumed  with  considerable  success  a  jocular  air  and  tone  of  voice. 

"  Well,  what  news  ?  "  he  asked,  as  ke  ensconced  himeelf  in  a  cosy 
arm-chair  in  Pascal's  sitting-room.  "  For  myself,  I'm  overwhelmed  with 
work.  All  my  patients  seem  to  have  agreed  to  fall  ill  on  the  same  day. 
By  the  way,  what  about  your  marriage,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  matters  are  much  the  same,"  answered  Pascal.  "  My  engage- 
ment with  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau  holds  good." 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor  growing  pale  :  "  And  your  father?  " 

"  He  arrived  in  Paris  yesterday  morning." 

"  Does  he  consent  !  " 

"  Who  could  prevent  him  from  doing  so  ?  " 

Lorilleux  lost  countenance,  and  asked  himself  if  by  some  fatality  he 
had  not  misdirected  his  anonymous  letters ;  but  in  the  meantime 
Pascal,  who  had  calmly  risen  to  his  feet,  produced  the  two  missives,  and 
handing  them  to  the  doctor  quietly  exclaimed  :  "  Look  here,  my  friend, 
her3  are  two  notes  which  almost  made  my  marriage  fall  through.  Take 
the'n  and  burn  them  carefully.  Don't  let  anyone  ever  imagine  that  you 
are  capable  of  such  conduct." 

In  calling  on  his  friend  that  morning  Lorilleux  was  prepared  for 
everything  and  anything  excepting  this.  He  tried  to  stammer  out  a 
few  words  of  explanation,  he  endeavoured  to  deny  his  guilt,  but 
strength  failed  him.  He  was  suffocating  with  shame  and  emotion.  At 
last  rising  to  his  feet,  and  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  he  went  towards 
the  door  staggering  like  a  drunken  man. 

But  Pascal  called  him  back.  "Listen  Lorilleux,"  said  he,  "I  cant 
forget  twenty  years'  friendship  like  that.  Let  me  tell  you  I  forgive 
you." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  unfortunate  doctor,  with  tears  starting  to  his  eyes. 
"  That's  noble  and  magnanimous  on  your  part,  for  you  don't  know  the 
motive  that  influenced  me. " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  it." 

"But  it  would  be  generous  on  your  part  to  hear  me  Listen  to 

me  only  for  one  moment  .  Your  marriage  is  the  severest  blow  that 
fate  could  deal  me.     It  has  dispelled  the  dream  of  my  life." 

"What,  my  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Gerbeau?    Come,   come, 
'  you  have  lost;  your  mind,  my  poor  Lorilleux. " 


THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  125 

"  No,  Pascal,  no,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  shaking  his  head  sadly.  "  I 
wished  to  give  you  a  wife  of  my  own  choice.  The  one  I  intended  for 
you  was — was — my  sister.  You  alone  seemed  worthy  of  her.  I  thought 
I  could  have  thus  assured  your  happiness  and  her's.  For  the  last 
fifteen  years  I  have  been  longing  for  that  marriage." 

"But  why  didn't  you  speak  about  it  before?  I  might  have  had 
three  or  four  children  by  this  time." 

"I  thought  it  best  to  wait — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  have  told  you  over  and  over  again  that  the  folks 
who  always  wait  for  the  pear  to  ripen  run  the  risk  of  never  eating  it. " 

"Condemn  me,  crush  me,"  sighed  the  doctor,  "I  deserve  it,  but  in 
Heaven's  name  don't  scoff  at  me." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  speaking  seriously,  and  in  all  sincerity  of  purpose,"  re- 
joined Pascal.  "Behold  the  vanity  of  human  projects.  You  wanted 
to  marry  me  to  your  sister.  My  mother  was  schooling  an  heiress  whom 
she  intended  for  me  ;  Lantier  had  a  daughter  who  he  thought  would 
make  me  an  excellent  wife  !  .  .  But  what  has  come  of  all  those  fine 
plans  ?  Haven't  they  vanished  in  smoke,  haven  t  they  fallen  to  pieces 
like  houses  of  cards?  I  am  going  to  be  married,  true  and  sure  enough, 
but  not  to  your  sister,  not  to  my  mother's  heiress,  not  even  to  Lantier's 
daughter.  Chance  has  fixed  my  fate.  Believe  me,  my  friend,  premedi- 
tated marriages  don't  come  off." 

Lorilleux  was  too  grieved  and  crushed  to  answer. 

"Now  listen  to  me,"  resumed  Pascal,  changing  his  tone.  "Will 
you  do  a  sensible  thing  for  once  in  your  life  ?  Mind,  you  must  accept — ■ 
on  the  spot,  and  so  to  say  blindly — a  proposal  which  I  already  thought 
of  making  to  you  before  you  came  her«.  When  you  know  what  it  is 
you  will  realise  that  I  had  forgiven  you  beforehand.  Come,  tell  me, 
will  you  accept  my  proposal  ?  " 

' '  I  am  ready  to  do  whatever  may  please  you, "  answered  the  doctor 
with  an  air  of  subdued  resignation. 

"  Then  this  is  my  offer.  Lantier — as  I  just  told  you — wanted  to  give 
me  one  of  his  daughters — the  eldest — with  a  dowry  of  two  hundred 
thousand  francs.  She  is  a  charming  girl,  as  you  know  yourself,  for  you 
have  often  seen  her,  when  we  have  dined  together  at  Lantier's  house. 
But  Lantier,  as  dilatory  as  yourself,  only  spoke  to  me  of  his  project  this 
morning.  It  was  too  late,  for  my  heart  was  already  given  away.  But 
to  calm  his  grief,  and  assuage  his  disappointment,  I  suggested  another 
son-in-law  to  him.  And  that  other  son-in-law  was  yourself.  Lantier 
would  gladly  ratify  my  suggestion.  He  has  great  respect  for  your 
attainments,  and  I  believe  that  the  young  lady  herself  considers  you  a 
superior  man.  So  come,  tell  me,  will  you  propose  for  her  hand  ?  Is  it 
decided  ?  " 

"  At  least  grant  me  a  few  days  for  reflection,"  pleaded  Lorilleux,  who 
was  overwhelmed  with  surprise. 

"  Not  a  day,  not  an  hour.     It  must  be  '  yes '  or  '  no  '  on  the  spot. " 

The  doctor's  mind  was  whirling.  It  seemed  incredible  to  him  that 
he  could  be  required  to  take  so  grave  and  so  sudden  a  decision,  and 
he  instinctively  closed  his  eyes,  like  the  dazed  traveller  who  unex- 
pectedly comes  upon  a  yawning  abyss.  It  was  a  trial  indeed  to  be 
g§lled  upon  |o  decide  the  most  important  act  of   life   a£  g,  moment'^ 


126  THE    MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR. 

notice,  and  especially  for  such  a  man  as  himself.  Had  he  not  been  ac- 
customed to  prepare  and  mature  his  most  insignificant  deeds — had  he 
not  been  in  the  habit  of  weighing  all  the  pros  and  cons  of  even  every-day 
actions,  and  now  must  he  literally  decide  his  fate  without  even  examin- 
ing the  alternatives,  without  for  a  moment  appealing  to  the  vaunted 
rules  of  logic  which  he  had  been  so  accustomed  to  apply  ?  It  was  not 
without  a  pang,  not  without  a  struggle,  that  he  conquered  the  habits  of 
his  life-time,  and  said  to  Pascal,  who  was  impatiently  awaiting  hia 
answer — "  Let  it  be  so — I  accept." 

At  the  same  time  he  remarked  to  himself,  "  My  wife's  fortune,  will 
shed  lustre  on  my  sister." 

"  So  I  can  inform  Lantier  ?  "  resumed  Pascal. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  doctor,  "I  have  always  been  unlucky,  but 
perhaps  luck  will  eome  to  me  now,  through  you." 

"Eh?  my  dear  fellow,  you  must  keep  the  door  open  if  you  want 
happiness  to  enter  the  house. " 

That  same  evening,  taking  time  by  the  forelock,  and  with  the  view  of 
preventing  subsequent  explanations  and  sorrow,  Pascal,  acting  contrary 
to  the  advice  of  M.  Gerbeau  and  M.  Divorne,  acquainted  Mademoiselle 
Antoinette  with  everything  that  had  occured.  He  told  her  about  his 
visits  to  M.  de  Saint  Roch,  and  explained  how  it  happened  that  he  had 
been  introduced  to  her  family  by  the  Chevalier  de  Jeufias. 

Antoinette's  only  answer  was  to  give  Pascal  her  hand,  as  I  trust, 
friend  reader,  the  woman  you  love,  may  give  you  her's  when  you  have 
ought  to  ask  of  her. 

However,  the  Chevalier  de  Jeufias  was  not  invited  to  the  wedding, 
which  took  place  a  fortnight  afterwards. 


XI. 

A  month  had  elapsed,  and  the  young  couple,  in  the  flood  tide  of  honey- 
moon bliss,  were  installed  in  a  charming  house  of  the  Champs  Elysees, 
(arranged  with  the  greatest  care  by  Jean  Lantier,  now  Dr.  Lorilleux's 
father-in-law),  when  one  morning  a  visitor  presented  himself,  and  re- 
quested to  speak  with  M.  Pascal  Divorne.  Despite  the  early  hour,  this 
visitor  was  most  coquettishly  attired.  Over  a  resplendant  blue-bell 
coat,  he  wore  a  light  coloured  surtout  lined  with  white  satin,  and  his 
gloves  were  of  the  faintest  shade  of  pearl  grey.  So  as  not  to  interfere 
with  the  marvellous  arrangement  of  his  flaxen  hair  he  carried  his  broad 
brimmed  silk  hat  in  his  hand. 

Pascal's  valet  thought  that  this  curly-headed  stranger  had  just  left 
some  ball,  and  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  number  of  the  house  he  was 
bound  ior,  but  the  visitor  insisted  so  pertinaciously  and  alluded  so 
pressingly  fco  urgent  business,  that  the  servant  at  last  ushered  him  into 
his  master's  private  room. 

"  Good  morning  my  dear  child,"  said  M.  de  Saint  Roch  (our  readers 
will  have  recognised  the  illustrious  ambassador)  in  a  honeyed  voice, 
"I  wished  to  surprise  you  in  the  midst  of  your  felicity.  Will  you  ex- 
cuse this  indiscretion  which  is  my  only  reward  ?  " 


THE   MATRIMONIAL    AMBASSADOR.  127 

Pascal  did  not  think  it  needful  to  offer  the  negociator  a  chair. 

"  Well  my  dear  client,"  continued  M.  de  Saint  Roch,  not  in  the  least 
degree  abashed  by  this  frigid  reception,  "Well,  do  we  bless  our  friend? 
You  will  have  seen  that  I  did  not  deceive  you.  Papa  Gerbeau  has  be- 
haved generously.     A  fine  sum — three  hundred  thousand  francs — •" 

"  The  fact  is  that  I  am  rather  busy  this  morning,"  interrupted  Pascal. 

M.  de  Saint  Roch  heaved  a  sigh.  "The  ungrateful  boy,"  he 
muttered,  "  The  ungrateful  boy  !  He  forgets  that  it  was  I  who  in- 
itiated him  to  the  felicity  of  matrimony." 

' '  But  what  is  the  object  of  your  visit  ? "  asked  Pascal. 

"Oh  !  the  least  thing  in  the  world,"  rejoined  the  ambassador.  "We 
have  a  little  agreement  together,  you  will  remember — a  mere  nothing — 
a  bagatelle — ■five  per  cent  on  the  amount  of  the  dowry,  and  as  you  have 
received  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  there  are  fifteen  thousand  due 
to  me." 

"  And  if  I  refused  to  pay  ?  "  suggested  Pascal  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  M.  de  Saint  Roch,  growing  pale  under  the  layer  of 
vermillion  that  adorned  his  cheeks,  "Oh!  what  a  cruel  joke!  The 
idea  of  haggling  over  your  happiness  !  "  . 

"  But  if  I  didn't  joke,  if  I  did  haggle?  "  rejoined  Pascal. 

"  Then  to  my  grief  we  should  have  to  plead — And  you  would  gain 
nothing  by  it,  for  I  should  certainly  win  the  suit.  As  you  are  aware  I 
have  judgments  in  my  favour." 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  interrupted  Pascal.  "  Here  take  your  money, 
my  disinterested  friend." 

"Ah,  dear  child!"  exclaimed  the  illustrious  negotiator,  in  a  soft 
voice.  "  I  did  not  expect  less  from  your  gratitude.  It  becomes  you  to 
pay  the  debt  of  happiness."  And  noticing  a  little  bronze  paper  weight 
on  the  writing  table  he  slipped  it  into  his  pocket  adding  :  "I  must  take 
this.  It  will  be  a  precious  souvenir — more  precious  indeed  than  the 
bank-notes  which  you  have  just  given  me.  Am  I  not  your  second 
father  ?    In  gazing  at  this  pious  gift — " 

"  Come,  good-bye,  dear  Monsieur  de  Saint  Roch,"  interrupted  Pascal, 
pushing  his  second  father  towards  the  door. 

But  Hymen's  pontiff  paused  on  the  threshold  :— "  Dear  lad,"  said 
he  in  an  under  tone,  ' '  If  ever — God  spare  you  such  a  misfortune  !— 
but  if  ever  you  did  happen  to  lose  that  dear  wife  of  yours,  don't  forget 
my  services.  Remember  all  I  have  done  for  you — remember  my  device 
*'  Discretion  and  Disinterestedness  " — and  if  you  did  think  of  marrying 
again,  come  to  me  in  all  confidence,  and  honour  me  with  your  custom." 


LOYE    OR    WEALTH? 


A  PAEISIAN  VISCOUNT. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and,  strange  to  relate,  Viscount 
Maxime  de  Tressang  was  already  a-foot.  Stranger  still,  he  was  to  all 
appearance  immersed  in  reflection.  Leaning  against  the  window-sill  of 
his  bed-chamber,  with  a  cigar  between  his  lips,  he  gazed  vacantly  over 
the  beautiful  grounds  of  the  family  mansion,  one  of  the  most  superb 
abodes  of  that  aristocratic  district,  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  The 
viscount  was  barely  five-and-twenty.  He  had  the  reputation  of  being 
both  a  witty  and  a  handsome  man,  but  his  good  looks  had  been  con- 
siderably impaired  by  early  excesses.  Maxime  de  Tressang,  or  as  his 
friends  called  him  "Max,"  had  indeed  been  one  of  the  wildest  viveurs 
of  Paris.  In  three  years  be  had  squandered  half  a  million  of  francs  left 
him  by  his  mother,  who  had  died  when  he  was  but  a  child.  But  after 
three  years'  delirium  he  had  woke  up  to  find  himself  penniless.  Creditors, 
hitherto  kept  at  bay,  now  showed  their  teeth,  and  the  viscount  was 
threatened  with  imprisonment  for  debt.  Their  clamours  had  reached 
the  ears  of  Max's  father,  the  old  Count  de  Tressang,  who  had  informed 
his  son  that  there  was  but  one  way  to  get  out  of  the  difficulty — to  pay 
what  he  owed.  The  viscount  objected  that  his  purse  was  empty,  and 
that  was  true,  but  as  his  father  pointed  out,  his  mother's  fortune  had 
consisted  largely  of  farms  and  broad  acres  in  the  sunsight,  of  luxuriant 
vineyards  and  radiant  pasture-lands,  and  these  might,  or  rather  must  be 
sold,  to  procure  the  wherewith  to  discharge  his  debts.  Sold  they  were — 
the  shady  valleys  and  the  breezy  slopes,  the  wavy  woods  and  the  rippling 
watercourses,  and  there  was  an  end  to  Max's  maternal  fortune  and  his 
troubles. 

A  great  many  people  blamed  the  old  Count  de  Tressang  for  having 
refused  to  unloosen  his  purse  strings,  for  the  count  had  a  large  fortune 
of  his  own.  and,  had  he  chosen,  might  easily  have  spared  his  son  the 
disgrace  of  having  to  bring  his  mother's  estates  to  the  hammer.  But 
those  who  spoke  in  this  fashion  were  not  aware  that  the  count  had  em- 
ployed agents  to  buy  up  every  rood  and  perch  that  was  offered  for  sale. 
Max  himself  was  ignorant  of  this  circumstance,  and  little  imagined  that 
at  his  father's  death  he  would  find  himself  master  once  more  of  the 
maternal  belongings,  in  addition  to  securing  the  paternal  inheritance 
■■■■-'"  jjj 


130  LOVE    OR   'WEALTH'? 

In  the  meanwhile,  his  ruin  was  complete,  but,  to  all  appearance,  he 
resigned  himself  with  a  good  grace  to  his  altered  circumstances.  He 
assumed  the  air  of  a  man  who,  having  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure  to  its 
dregs,  has  no  longer  any  desire  to  see  it  replenished.  He  declared  that 
he  was  utterly  blast,,  that  the  gaiy  life  of  Paris  had  no  longer  any  attrac- 
tions for  him,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  when  the  companions  of 
his  former  exploits  spoke  to  him  of  what  was  occuring  in  their 
circle.  He  laughed  when  he  heard  that  some  luckless  neophyte  had 
iust  made  a  tremendous  plunge,  or  that  a  new-comer  had  singed 
his  wings  in  the  devouring  flame  of  Paris.  And  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  in 
the  solitude  of  his  own  chamber  he  often  thought  of  his  own  scorched 
pinions. 

Had  he  chosen  he  might  still  have  cut  a  decent  figure  in  society,  for 
when  he  was  obliged  to  return  to  the  paternal  roof,  his  father  said  to 
him,  "Well,  Max,  you  are  ruined.  I  expected  as  much.  Perhaps  I 
might  have  prevented  it,  but  I  didn't  choose  to.  It  is  the  habit  in  our 
family  for  the  young  fellows  to  pay  their  debt  to  youth,  so  let  us  say  no 
more  on  the  subject.  Your  mother  was  not  very  wealthy,  and  what  she 
left  to  you  has  vanished  in  no  time.  Fortunately,  however,  I  am 
wealthier  than  she  was.  No  doubt  you  are  very  repentant  now,  but 
you  might  perhaps  take  it  into  your  head  one  day  to  throw  my  fortune 
out  of  window  like  you  did  your  mother's.  I  can't  presume  to  say 
what  you  will  do  when  I  am  gone,  but  as  long  as  I  live  I  am  determined 
to  prevent  that  eventuality  occuring.  So  this  is  what  I  have  decided  on. 
My  house,  my  table,  my  servants,  my  horses  and  carriages  are  all  at 
your  disposal,  and  in  addition  I  will  allow  you  a  thousand  francs  a 
month.     Are  you  satisfied  1 " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  viscount  in  despair.  "Yes,  I  am  satisfied." 
But  at  the  same  time  he  thought  to  himself,  "  The  best  thing  that  I  can 
do  is  to  blow  out  my  brains." 

A  night's  sleep  calmed  him,  however,  and  he  thought  better  of  it. 
After  all  his  father  was  old — and  though  he  did  not  desire  his  death — 
Heaven  forbid  ! — still  the  count  could  not  last  many  years  longer,  and 
then  he,  Max,  would  be  his  own  master  once  more. 

When  misfortune  overtook  our  viscount,  some  folks  tried  to  scoff  at 
him,  but  they  only  did  so  at  a  distance,  for  he  was  apt  to  be  susceptible, 
and  besides,  as  was  well  known,  he  was  expert  both  with  sword  and 
pistol.  Moreover,  he  was  passing  popular  in  the  world  of  viveurs,  for, 
after  all,  he  had  "  plunged  "  with  considerable  grace  ;  so  as  soon  as  the 
first  stir  occasioned  by  his  ruin  was  over,  he  was  looked  up  to  with 
some  little  respect.  His  whilom  comrades  remembered  that  "  honour 
to  the  vanquished  !  "  had  been  a  favourite  device  among  their  ancestors 
— the  knights  of  olden  time.  Still  their  respect  for  Max  was  dosed 
with  commiseration,  and  commiseration  was  just  what  the  viscount 
did  not  care  fo-. 

On  the  particular  morning  we  have  mentioned,  as  Max  leant  out  of 
his  window,  smoking  a  fragrant  panatellas,  and  inhaling  together  with 
the  vw.lta  de  abajo  the  balmy  air  of  the  beautiful  grounds  spread  out 
before  him,  he  was  reflecting  on  a  book  which  he  had  chanced  to  glance 
at  the  day  before,  and  which  he  had  very  imperfectly  understood.  This 
book  was  Stendhal's  work  on  Jjove,    We  have  said  that  he  only  under- 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH?  131 

stood  it  imperfectly,  but  to  speak  correctly  it  must  be  admitted  that 
certain  passages  of  it  had  impressed  him,  and  aroused  a  curious  strain  of 
thought  in  his  mind.  Reverting  to  the  title  of  the  work  itself,  he  asked 
himself  in  all  good  faith  what  was  this  sentiment — Love — which  every- 
one talks  about,  which  everyone  comments  upon,  but  which  few  indeed 
have  really  ever  known.  "  It  is  a  painful  fact,"  mused  our  viscount, 
"but  I  am  really  tempted  to  think  that  the  name  alone  exists.  Now- 
a-days  every  man  of  five-and-twenty  is  more  or  less  blasA,  according  to 
his  station.  He  has  come  across  innumerable  women,  fair  and  dark, 
witty  or  foolish,  pretty  or  plain,  brave  in  silk,  or  shabby  in  cotton.  By 
the  time  he  reaches  thirty,  celibacy  has  become  either  intolerable  or  im- 
possible, especially  if  he  happens  to  be  three  parts  ruined,  and  so  he 
feels  the  need  of  uniting  his  destiny  to  some  marriageable  young  woman, 
the  richest  one  he  can  find.  A  marriage  is  "  arranged,"  as  people  say  ; 
it  is  either  a  mariage  de  convenance  or  a  mariage  de  raison,  if  indeed 
it  be  not  a  pure  speculation.  After  all  the  three  expressions  are  really 
synonymous.  Well,  our  man  marries,  and  then  he  thinks  he  has  a  right 
to  have  his  little  say  on  women  and  love.  Now  I  should  like  to  know 
what  experience  he  can  have  had  of  love  in  all  this.  He  can  scarcely 
have  loved  the  women  he  knew  before  his  marriage,  the  women  who 
drained  his  purse  and  deceived  him  behind  his  back  ;  and  can  he  love 
the  woman  he  deceives  with  a  mock  courtship,  which  is  only  sincere  in 
as  much  as  it  applies  to  her  dowry  ?  The  whole  affiair  is  so  much  im- 
moral bartering.     As  for  love  it  doesn't  exist,  except  in  name." 

Max  had  reached  this  point  of  his  reflections,  and  was  thinking 
whether  any  objection  could  be  found  to  his  theory  when  he  was 
suddenly  startled  by  a  shrill  cry,  which  apparently  came  from  the  other 
end  of  the  grounds.  "  What  can  the  matter  be  ?  "  thought  the  viscount, 
"  Some  one  in  distress  ?  Suppose  I  go  and  see."  And  fancying  that  a 
little  exercise  would  enable  him  to  shake  off  his  fit  of  spleen  he  left  his 
room  and  went  down-stairs. 


II. 

THE  GARBET  WINDOW. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  grounds  in  the  rear  of  the  Count  de  Tressang's 
mansion  stood  numerous  old  houses,  the  windows  of  which  had  been 
walled  up  so  that  none  of  the  tenants  might  intrude  on  their  aristocratic 
neighbour's  privacy.  This  had  been  done  in  virtue  of  an  arrangement 
between  the  count  and  the  landlord  of  the  ancient  tenements,  the  latter 
receiving  a  handsome  sum  which  induced  him  to  cheerfully  deprive  his 
tenents  of  air  and  light  in  addition  to  a  superb  view.  Of  course  the 
tenants  were  not  entirely  left  in  the  dark,  for  little  windows  had  been 
pierced  looking  into  a  narrow,  dismal,  stench-abiding  courtyard,  where 
the  sun  rarely  ever  penetrated,  and  as  the  piercing  of  these  new  windows 
entailed  some  trifling  expenditure  the  landlord  thought  himself  justi- 
fied in  exacting  an  increased  rental.  If  the  tenants  were  not  delighted 
after  that,  they  must  have  been  hard  to  please  indeed.  There  was  but 
one  tenant  in  the  old  buildings  who  still  retained  a  view  on  the  Count 


132  LOVE    OR    WEALTH  ? 

de  Tressang's  garden.  This  was  the  occupant  of  a  little  garret  near  the 
sky  which  was  so  situated  that  it  must  have  remained  entirely  without 
light  if  its  window  looking  on  the  grounds  had  been  blocked  up.  The 
landlord  of  the  old  tenements  had  explained  this  matter  to  his  noble 
neighbour,  and  as  he  could  not  possibly  hope  to  let  a  room  without  even 
the  semblance  of  a  window,  it  was  decided  to  let  this  single  little  case- 
ment remain. 

Now  it  was  from  this  window  that  came  the  cry  which  had  startled 
Max  and  excited  his  curiosity.  This  curiosity  of  his  was  all  the  more 
keen,  be  it  noted,  as  he  had  judged  from  the  sound  that  it  must  be  some 
woman,  or  rather  some  young  girl,  who  was  in  distress.  He  was  not 
mistaken.  When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  garden  and  looked  up  he 
perceived  an  extremely  pretty  damsel,  who  was  leaning  so  far  out  of  her 
window  that  the  slightest  imprudent  movement  would  probably  have 
sufficed  to  overbalance  her.  The  breeze  was  toying  with  her  wavy 
golden  ringlets,  and  her  big  blue  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  were  trying  to  distinguish  something  which  the  trees  screened 
from  her  view. 

For  a  moment  the  viscount  was  quite  dazed  by  this  young  woman's 
loveliness.  ' '  Have  you  let  anything  fall,  mademoiselle  ?  "  he  asked 
politely. 

"  Oh,  yes,  monsieur,"  she  answered  "  Be  kind  enough  to  look  under 
the  trees.  I  have  let  my  bird-cage  fall,  and  my  poor  little  linnet  must 
be  killed." 

Max  retired  under  the  trees,  and  looked  around  him  on  all  sides,  but 
without  result.     "  I  see  nothing,  mademoiselle,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  !  dear  me,  dear  me.  The  cage  must  have  caught  in  a  branch. 
My  poor  little  bird  must  be  dead." 

"Do  you  really  think  that  the  cage  has  caught  in  one  of  the  trees ? " 

"Oh  !  I'm  certain  of  it." 

"  Very  well  then,  I'll  look." 

"  Oh  I'm  sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble,  sir,  but  as  you  are  so 
obliging  let  me  tell  you  I  think  it  is  in  that  large  plane  tree." 

"In  that  one ?  "  asked  Max  pointing  to  a  tree. 

"No,  in  the  next  one — yes — there." 

"  Very  good.  The  servants  are  not  up  yet  but  I  will  procure  a 
ladder,  and — 

"  A  ladder  !  "  And  in  spite  of  the  distance  the  viscount  could  per- 
ceive that  the  pretty  girl  was  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"  After  all,"  thought  he,  with  a  laugh,  "I  can  certainly  manage  to 
climb  that  tree.  The  girl  is  charming,  and  no  mistake,  and  my  conduct 
will  be  all  the  more  meritorious."  And  so  saying,  careless  of  his  white 
hands,  Max  proceeded  to  scale  the  tree,  discovered  the  cage,  unhooked 
it  from  the  branch  to  which  it  was  suspended,  and  slipped  down  to  the 
ground  again  with  his  precious  burden.  The  pretty  girl  had  been 
anxiously  watching  his  movements. 

"  I  have  it  !  "  cried  the  viscount. 

"And  is  my  linnet  alive  ?  " 

"I  should  think  so,"  and  raising  the  cage  he  showed  her  that  the 
bird  was  feeding. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  thank  you." 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH?  133 

"I'll  carry  it  round  to  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  Max,  "if  you  will 
only  tell  me  who  to  ask  for." 

"  Oh,  don't  take  that  trouble,  sir,"  replied  the  pretty  girl,  "  I  have  a 
clothes  line  here  and  will  let  it  down  to  you.  I  can  easily  haul  up  the 
cage." 

"  But,  mademoiselle,  it  seems  to  me" — 

"  Oh,  it  won't  take  a  minute."  And  the  pretty  girl  thereupon  retired 
into  her  room. 

"  The  fact  is  that  she  is  positively  lovely,"  thought  Max,  "  what  hair 
and  what  eyes  !  "  And  as  instinct  mastered  admiration  he  added, 
measuring  the  height  from  the  ground  to  the  window.  "  Friend  linnet  I 
should  like  to  go  up  with  you. " 

At  this  moment  the  pretty  girl  reappeared.  "  Here's  the  cord,  sir," 
she  said. 

"  Very  good  ;  let  it  down  to  me." 

"  Please  tie  the  cage  strongly.     Don't  spare  the  knots." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  may  depend  on  me." 

Thereupon  Max  fastened  the  cage  to  the  cord,  and  the  pretty  girl 
carefully  hauled  it  up  to  herwindow.  At  last  it  reached  the  sill,  she 
grasped  it  with  both  hands,  and  'leaning  forward  again  exclaimed  : 
"Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness,  thank  you,  thank  you."  And  then 
once  more  she  retired  into  her  chamber. 

Max  rubbed  his  eyes.  "  Dear  me,"  said  he,  "Is  this  really  myself  ? 
Have  I  really  been  climbing  up  that  tree  to  catch  a  linnet. "  And  he 
glanced  at  his  grazed  hands  and  trousers  to  convince  himself  that  he 
was  really  awake.  "  To  think  that  I  didn't  even  induce  her  to  tell  me 
her  name  !  Why  I  have  been  behaving  like  a  schoolboy.  However,  I 
will  find  it  out,  for  it's  really  impossible  to  be  prettier  than  she  is." 

He  sat  down  on  a  garden  bench,  but  contrary  to  his  hopes  the  pretty 
girl  did  not  show  herself  again  at  her  window.  "  Come,  well  it  shall 
be  for  to-morrow,"  said  Max  to  himself,  and  he  went  indoors  again. 

Having  lighted  another  cigar  he  stretched  himself  on  his  divan, 
and  after  a  few  puffs,  fell  asleep.  He  dreamed  that  he  had  a  fortune 
of  a  million  a  year,  and  that  he  was  driving  round  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
in  a  carriage  of  massive  gold,  drawn  by  six  horses  of  fabulous  value, 
with  the  pretty  girl  to  whom  the  linnet  belonged. 


III. 

A   MODERN  BOHEMIAN. 

Max  had  just  woke  up  when  he  heard  a  knock  at  his  door.  "Come 
in  !"  cried  he  ;  and  immediately  a  servant  entered. 

"There  is  a  person  down-stairs,  sir,"  said  the  valet,  "He's  rather 
shabbily  dressed,  and  although  it's  still  very  early  he  insists  on  seeing 
you — His  name  is  Monsieur  Clodomir." 

"  Show  him  up  by  all  means,"  replied  Max,  springing  to  his  feet. 

Seldom  indeed  did  he  show  such  alacrity,  but  then  it  must  be  men- 
tioned that  Clodomir  was  an  intimate  friend  of  his.  When  Max  was  a 
lad,  brought  up  in  the  country  by  his  fond  weak  mother,  Clodomir  had 


1 34  LOVE    OR   WEALTH  1 

been  the  companion  of  his  games  and  studies.  They  had  been  pupils 
at  the  same  college,  had  sat  side  by  side  on  the  same  form,  and  later 
on,  on  reaching  manhood,  they  had  several  times  met  in  Paris.  Friends 
they  had  always  remained,  despite  the  great  difference  of  their  respec- 
tive positions.  Clodomir  dreamt  of  becoming  a  great  author,  but  his 
family  was  highly  incensed  at  the  idea  of  his  following  literary  pursuits, 
and  he  had  been  cast  adrift  with  the  intimation,  that  as  he  was  such  a 
fool  he  must  shift  for  himself.  "  Clodomir  "  was  merely  his  literary 
pseudonym  for  his  real  name  wTas  Horace  Maisans,  and  his  father  was  a 
wealthy  vineyard  proprietor  and  wine  merchant  of  Macon.  The  old 
man  was  never  tired  of  complaining  about  his  son,  whose  "follies"  he 
declared  had  made  him  bald,  and  who  would  unfailingly  bring  him  to 
the  workhouse  and  the  grave.  Clodomir  was  no  doubt  in  a  great 
measure  a  bohemian,  but  the  "follies"  his  father  spoke  of,  merely 
existed  in  the  obstinate  old  vinegrower's  imagination.  In  point  of  fact, 
far  from  leading  a  life  of  extravagance,  Clodomir  had  to  struggle  against 
bitter  misery.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  and  his  open  intelligent  face  wore 
an  expression  of  intense  fatigue  and  worry.  However,  he  shook  the 
viscount  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  then  in  compliance  with  his  request 
sat  down  beside  him. 

"I  had  almost  given  you  up,"  exclaimed  Max  in  a  cordial  tone,  which 
showed  that  he  had  at  least  some  good  points  left.  "It  is  a  century 
since  I  saw  you  last.  However,  at  length  you  have  deigned  to  come 
and  see  me,  and  I  hope  we  shall  see  each  other  frequently  in  future. 
First  of  all,  where  do  you  live  !  " 

"  Well — nowhere  for  the  present,  answered  Clodomir — "  In  fact,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  that  is  what  has  brought  be  here.  Can  you  lend  me 
forty  francs  ?  " 

"You  don't  live  anywhere,  and  you  want  to  borrow  forty  francs? 
What  can  you  do  with  such  a  beggarly  sum  ?  I'm  not  rich  now-a-days, 
unfortunately  ;  but  still  there  is  something  left  in  my  purse.  Why  not 
share  with  me  ?  " 

"Thanks.  I  said  forty  francs,  that's  just  what  I  require,  and 
Heaven  knows  when  I  shall  be  able  to  refund  them." 

"  Refund  them  !  but  do  you  imagine  " — 

"  Excuse  me,  pray.     Do  you  care  for  my  friendship  ?  " 

"What  a  question  !" 

"  Well,  lend  me  what  I  ask  for,  nothing  more  ;  and  let  me  tell  you 
that  I  will  return  you  the  sum  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  really  don't  see  the  connection — " 

' '  Between  my  friendship  and  this  loan  ?  Then  is  my  self-esteem  to 
count  for  nothing  ?  To  retain  a  friend,  you  know,  a  man  ought  to  owe 
him  as  few  obligations  as  possible. " 

"  What  a  deplorable  theory  !     As  if  the  duties  of  friendship —  " 

"  Ah !  ah  !  what  a  pretty  expression  ! " 

"  Come,  don't  you  believe  in  anything  then  ?  " 

"  In  very  few  things  at  all  events.  But  seriously,  you  spoke  of  a  theory 
just  now.  Let  me  give  you  mine.  I  admit  that  friendship  is  some- 
times a  strong  bond ;  but  to  sever  the  tie,  very  little,  a  mere  nothing 
often  suffices.  I  go  further  than  that.  Friendship  is  not  possible 
without  equality.     ]n  reality  if  I  am  under  an  obligation  to  you,  I  am 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH?  135 

no  longer  your  equal.  I  can  no  longer  say  what  I  like,  my  opinion  be. 
comes  dependent  on  your's." 

"  What  ridiculous  pride  !  " 

"Nevertheless,  such  is  the  case.  Suppose  one  day  I  went  further 
than  you  liked — who  knows  ?  Suppose  I  said  something  you  didn't 
approve  of  ?  A  friend  is  a  tyrant  at  times.  There  are  moments  when 
a  man's  best  friend  becomes  inexorable.  Well,  suppose  we  fell  out, 
suppose  we  quarrelled.  I  hope  we  never  shall,  but  the  eventuality  is  a 
possible  one.  What  would  you  say  then  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Why  if 
folks  spoke  to  you  of  me,  you  would  shrug  your  shoulders  with  disdain, 
and  no  doubt  remark,  "  Ah  !  that  insipid  rhymer  whom  I  picked  out  of 
the  gutter " 

"Come,  Clodomir,  you  are  positively  insulting  this  morning." 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  not ;  only  our  points  of  view  differ.  You 
are  still  young — wait  a  few  years  more.  But,  come,  let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else." 

"  With  pleasure,  but  first  of  all,  here  is  my  purse.  Take  what  you 
require.  And  now,  tell  me,  how  does  it  happen  that  you  don't  live 
anywhere  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  you  open  my  wound  anew  !  I  don't  live  anywhere  because — 
because  this  happens  to  be  the  15th  July." 

' '  How  is  that  ?     Explain  yourself. " 

"  Why,  because  when  a  man  has  only  a  modest  rental  quarter-day 
falls  on  July  the  8th,  and  landlords  have  the  annoying  habit  of  exacting 
punctual  payment  of  their  rent.  I  was  unable  to  pay  mine,  and  so  I 
was  ejected — turned  out  of  doors,  and  politely  requested  to  go  and  live 
somewhere  else." 

"  Eh,  but  your  furniture  and  your  clothes?  " 

Clodomir  began  to  laugh.  "  My  furniture  !"  said  he,  "why  I  have 
left  it  as  security  for  what  I  owed.  Besides  there  wasn't  much  of  it — a 
camp  bedstead  and  a  mattress.  As  for  my  clothes,  I'm  wearing  them. 
Aren't  they  really  remarkable  ?  " 

' '  The  cut  is  original  certainly. " 

"Well  at  all  events  that  is  my  only  suit.  But  don't  be  alarmed,  I 
saved  my  papers.  It  would  have  been  a  misfortune  and  no  mistake  if 
they  had  been  lost.  Why,  there  was  the  manuscript  of  my  romantic 
drama  in  nine  acts,  the  first  scene  of  which  is  laid  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Blanc,  and  the  last  in  a  mine  in  Siberia.  It  is  written  in 
verse  from  first  to  last,  and  embellished  with  puns  and  all  sorts  of  jokes. 
There  is  a  ballet  in  the  third  act,  and  a  charade  is  introduced  in  the 
fourth  one.  I  call  that  a  new  idea  and  no  mistake.  The  spectators  who 
guess  the  charade  .will  be  entitled  to  a  prize — a  magnificent  prize — a 
volume  of  verse  by  myself  at  trade  price — that  is  three  francs  and  a 
half  in  lieu  of  five  !     Come  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

Clodomir  made  this  fantastic  speech  in  such  a  serious  tone  that  Max 
was  positively  stupefied,  and  began  to  ask  himself  if  his  friend  was  not 
a  little  bit  touched  in  the  head.  However,  the  bohemian  at  last  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  the  viscount  realised  that  he  had  been  joking. 

"That  is  all  very  pretty,"  said  Max.  "  But  tell  me,  where  did  you 
live  when  you  had  a  home  ?  " 

"When  I  had  a  home,  my  dear  viscount,  I  had  no  clothes." 


136  LOVE    OR    WEALTH  1 

"No  clothes?  "  exclaimed  Max,  relapsing  into  stupefaction, 

"At  all  events,  I  could  not  have  presented  myself  here  in  those  which 
I  possessed,  and  I  did  not  ask  you  to  call  on  me  because  I  hadn't  even  a 
chair  for  you  to  sit  down  upon.  That  is  the  truth.  However,  if  you 
want  to  know  where  I  lived  it  was  close  by.  I  could  even  see  your 
garden  from  a  neighbour's  window." 

' '  What  !  "     From  that  little  window  at  the  end  of  the  grounds  ?  " 

"Precisely." 

"  But  it  is  a  pretty  girl  who  lives  there — a  perfect  beauty." 

"  Ah  !  "  ejaculated  the  bohemian,  losing  his  satirical  air.  "Do  you 
know  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  no.  It's  quite  a  pastoral.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  after 
breakfast,  for  as  you  are  here  you  must  at  least  breakfast  with  me." 

Clodomir  consented,  and  Max  at  once  rang  the  bell  and  gave  his 
orders.  While  the  meal  was  in  progress  the  conversation  mainly  turned 
on  the  bohemian's  own  adventures  during  the  year  that  Max  had  lost 
sight  of  him,  but  as  soon  as  the  viands  were  cleared  away,  the  viscount 
produced  some  of  his  fragrant  cigars,  and  in  accordance  with  his  pro- 
mise proceeded  to  recount  the  morning's  adventure. 

Clodomir  listened  attentively  to  his  friend's  story,  and  did  not  once 
ittempt  to  interrupt  him.  But  when  the  viscount  had  finished,  he  leant 
forward,  and  with  some  eagerness  exclaimed  :  "All  that  is  very  poetical 
no  doubt,  especially  as  you  have  related  it,  Max  ;  but  would  it  be  indis- 
creet to  inquire  what  are  your  intentions  respecting  that  young  girl  ? " 

"  Oh  no  ;  they  are  simple  enough." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  shall  offer  her  a  comfortable  abode  and  a  carriage,  and  in 
three  months'  time,  if  she  is  as  'cute  as  pretty,  she  will  have  deserted 
me.  I'm  only  a  poor  viscount  in  leading  strings,  you  know,  and  she  will 
no  doubt  find  some  wealthier  protector — a  Moldavian  grandee  or  a 
Russian  prince.  But  I  shall  have  brought  her  out ;  1  shall  have 
rendered  her  the  first  service " 

"  A  fine  service  indeed  !  Do  you  know,  Max,  that  plan  of  your's  ia 
simply  infamous  ?  " 

The  viscount  laughed.  His  friend's  high-flown  notions  of  morality 
seemed  to  afford  him  intense  amusement. 

"Yes,  infamous!"  continued  Clodomir.  "Besides,  how  do  you 
know  that  this  young  girl  won't  spurn  your  offers  with  indignation  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  won't  refuse  them  !  " 

' '  How  do  you  know  that  she  isn't  a  hard-working,  virtuous  girl, 
prizing  her  honour  as  highly  as  the  proudest  duchess  of  your  noble 
faubourg  ?  " 

"  What,  really,  my  poor  Clodomir?  "  rejoined  the  viscount,  with  an 
air  of  compassion.  "  You  were  so  sceptical  a  little  while  ago,  and  yet 
you  are  weak  enough  to  believe  in  these  things  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  believe  in  them,  and  firmly  too.  And,  besides,  what  does  it 
matter  to  you  ?  Whether  she  be  virtuous  or  not,  what  right  have  you 
to  trouble  her  life  ?  If  she  be  virtuous,  why  play  the  part  of  a  tempter  ? 
Why  ruin  her  ?  why  make  an  unfortunate  the  more  ?  And  if  she  isn't 
virtuous,  maybe  she  is  bound  by  ties  that  would  make  all  your  efforts 
unavailing,'; 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH?  137 

Max  smiled  again.     "  I'm  beginning  to  understand,"  said  he. 

' '  Understand  ?    Understand  what  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  how  long  you  were  this  damsel's  neighbour  ?  " 

"  For  about  a  year  and  a  half." 

"  And  so  you  don't  want  me  to  shoot  over  your  preserves  ?  " 

"  My  preserves  i    I  swear  to  you " 

"  Don't  swear." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  a  dozen 
times.     I  was  only  in  her  room  on  one  occasion  when  she  was  away." 

"  But,  then,  why  do  you  take  such  interest  in  her  ?  " 

' '  Because  she  is  deserving  of  interest ;  because  she  is  a  poor,  virtuous, 
hard-working  girl,  without  parents  or  friends." 

"  But,  Clodomir,  why  not  simply  say -" 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  nothing  to  say  of  the  kind  you 
mean." 

' '  Take  care — mind,  you  are  leaving  me  an  open  field.  Come,  confess 
it,  you  love  her  ?  " 

"Not  at  all  !  Ah,  me  !  Can't  a  man  do  anything  without  having 
some  hidden  motive  for  his  conduct.  What  I  have  said  to  you  about 
Louise " 

"  Ah  !     So  her  name  is  Louise  !  "  ejaculated  Max. 

"  Or  Jeanne  or  Julia,  I'm  sure  1  don't  know,"  replied  his  friend  with 
an  impatient  air,  which  greatly  amused  the  young  viscount.  "  What  I 
have  said  to  you  about  her,  I  should  have  said  about  any  other  young 
girl  in  similar  circumstances.  Your  design  is  simply  infamous.  Laugh 
as  much  as  you  like,  but  come  don't  tarnish  your  escutcheon. " 

"  Ah  !  Clodomir.     I'm  certain  now,  she's  your  inamorata." 

"No,  upon  my  honour." 

"  Well,  well,  let  it  be  so  ;  only  remember  I  have  warned  you  of  what 
I  mean  to  do." 

At  this  moment  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
several  of  Maxime's  friends.  Without  relating  the  morning's  adventure, 
the  viscount  told  them  that  he  was  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl  of  humble 
rank,  and  amused  them  prodigiously  by  describing  Clodomir's  virtuous 
scruples.  The  newcomers  had  already  looked  upon  the  stranger  with 
astonishment,  for  whilst  they,  themselves,  were  attired  in  the  pink  of 
perfection,  the  bohemian's  garments  were  sadly  soiled  and  shabby.  His 
theories  now  transformed  him  into  a  very  wondrous  being  indeed. 

The  talk  soon  became  general,  and  each  of  Maxime's  friends  expounded 
his  views  in  turn.  Clodomir's  theories  were  utterly  scouted,  but  he 
nevertheless  maintained  everything  he  had  said,  and  without  mincing 
matters  in  the  least  degree,  told  his  "noble"  adversaries  what  he 
thought  of  them  and  their  notions.  In  fact,  the  discussion  became 
most  heated  and  strong  words  were  used  on  either  side. 

"Come,  come,"  said  one  of  Max's  friends — a  puny  little  baron  with 
an  ape-like  face.     "  The  girl  is  evidently  your  mistress." 

"  On  my  honour  she  isn't,"  answered  Clodomir  once  more. 

"  Well  do  you  mean  to  marry  her  since  you  have  made  yourself  the 
champion  of  her  virtue  ?  "  queried  another  of  Max's  comrades. 

"Perhaps  she  is  your  sister,  and  you  would  rather  not  own  her,"  re- 
marked the  Chevalier  de  Castelmoroni,  a  conceited  young  swell  who  had 


138  LOVE    OR    WEALTH? 

bought  his  title  from  the  pope,  and  whose  father,  a  horse-dealer,  re- 
joiced iu  the  vulgar  name  of  Trippard. 

"  No,  she  is  not  my  sister  in  the  sense  you  insinuate,"  cried  Clodomir 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  in  a  quivering  voice.  "No,  she  is  no  relation 
of  mine,  in  that  sense,  but  she  is  none  the  less  my  sister  in  the  name  of 
humanity,  which  you  forget—" 

"  Bravo  !  continue  pray." 

"And  that  is  a  relationship  which  I  won't  deny — a  relationship  no 
man  with  a  true  heart  would  blush  for.  She  is  my  sister,  for  poor  and 
lonely  she  labours  to  earn  her  living  ;  and  the  toil  of  days  and  nights 
does  not  suffice  to  provide  for  her  wants.  Her  beauty  is  but  an  additional 
misfortune,  since  it  exposes  her  to  every  temptation.  She  is  my  sister, 
since,  as  society  is  constituted,  she  has  no  one  to  defend  her — no  one. 
Her  only  shield  is  her  virtue,  the  consciousness  of  duty — and  do  you 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  resist  temptation,  when  hunger  presses  you, 
and  when  a  word  would  suffice  to  bring  you  luxury  ?  " 

Maxime's  friends  laughed  no  longer,  but  looked  at  each  other  in 
amazement.  As  Clodomir  paused,  however,  the  Chevalier  de  Castel- 
moroni  sarcastically  exclaimed— "  Dear  me,  this  man  must  be  the 
apostle  of  some  new  religion  !  " 

Clodomir  rose — too  irritated  to  remain  any  longer  in  such  company, 
and  without  a  word,  a  bow,  or  a  gesture  of  taking  leave,  abruptly 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

"Eh!  Max,"  inquired  the  chevalier,  "what  is  that  preposterous 
fellow's  name  ?  " 

"  Hector  Maisans.     He  was  my  schoolfellow  when  I  was  a  lad." 

Then  as  Max  had  not  been  able  to  go  to  Chantilly  on  the  previous 
day,  his  friends  described  the  racing  for  his  benefit ;  duly  recounting 
the  exploits  of  "Miss  Betsy,"  "Tambour  Major,"  and  "Pudding"— 
the  famous  English  horse  who  galloped  his  three  miles  without  the 
slightest  effort,  and  who  had  just  changed  hands  for  the  modest  sum  of 
a  hundred  thousand  francs. 

As  for  Clodomir,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the  street,  he  gave 
vent  to  his  pent-up  anger.  For  a  moment  he  almost  felt  enraged  with 
himself.  "  After  all,"  said  he,  "it  wasn't  worth  my  while  to  defend  a 
girl  I  scarcely  know.  Am  I  a  blockhead  ?  All  those  young  swells 
poked  fun  at  me  atrociously.  Were  they  in  the  right  ?  Perhaps  so ; 
and  yet  I  prefer  to  think  not.  Ay,  I  acted  rightly.  I  know  that  young 
girl.  During  a  year  and  a  half  I  lived  near  her.  Was  she  not  most 
virtuous  and  laborious?  Come,  it  seems  I'm  taking  extraordinary  in- 
terest in  her.  Am  I  in  love  ?  what  madness  !  That  would  be  the 
crowning  folly  ;  it  cannot,  must  not  be.     I  can't  even  suffice  for  my  own 

wants.     My  means  don't  allow  me  to  think  of And  yet,  if  I'm  so 

grieved  at  having  had  to  leave  my  old  quarters  it  is  on  account  of  her — 
Really  I  ought  to  warn  her  of  Max's  intentions— put  her  on  her  guard — 
But  perhaps  she  herself  would  laugh  at  me  1  Come,  come,  Max  was 
decidedly  in  the  right,  and  his  friends  as  well." 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH  ]  13$ 

IV. 

PRESENTS    AND  PROPOSALS. 

When  the  Viscount  de  Tressang  woke  up  on  the  following  morning  his 
first  thought  was  for  the  pretty  girl  whom  he  had  espied  at  the  little 
casement.  Skilful  inquiries  had  procured  him  the  information  that  her 
name  was  Louise  Blaiu ;  that  she  had  no  relations,  and  that  she  lived 
qui  te  alone,  received  no  visits,  and  only  went  out  to  fetch  or  return  her 
work — valuable  old  lace  which  she  was  most  expert  in  repairing. 

The  viscount  was  far  from  being  timid,  and  yet  a  feeling  he  had  never 
experienced  before  deterred  him  from  knocking  at  the  garret  door  and 
making  the  proposal  he  had  spoken  of  to  Clodomir.  Like  some  love- 
sick Arcadian  shepherd  he  spent  his  time  wandering  through  the 
grounds,  and  watching  Louise's  window.  For  hours  he  would  recline 
on  the  garden  bench  near  the  plane  trees  and  listen  to  her  while  she 
sang  at  her  work.  Her  voice  was  quite  untrained,  and  she  had  plainly 
no  technical  knowledge  of  music  ;  and  yet  to  our  enamoured  hero  hex 
notes  seemed  most  delightfully  harmonious.  He  indeed  decided  in  his 
own  mind  that  Louise  surpassed  the  most  renowned  vocalists  of  the  day, 
albeit  that  she  merely  sang  popular  refrains,  such  as  are  murdered  by 
screeching  hurdygurdies  in  every  court  and  alley.  Some  days  elapsed 
without  Max  prosecuting  his  adventure  any  further  ;  but  at  length  one 
evening  he  remarked  to  himself,  ' '  I  can't  remain  in  this  state,  I  must 
come  to  some  decision." 

The  result  of  his  meditations  was  that,  on  the  morrow,  a  servant 
attired  in  the  Tressang  livery,  knocked  at  Louise's  door  and  presented 
her  with  a  note,  the  very  terseness  of  which  was  calculated  to  insinuate 
all  kinds  of  things.  "  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  billet,  "  to  see  you  is  to 
love  you.  I  have  seen  you.  With  one  word  it  is  in  your  power  to 
make  me  the  happiest  of  men.  Will  you  say  that  word  ?  Your  apart- 
ment is  ready.      Your  carriage  awaits  the  answer  at  your  door." 

Louise  read  the  note  and  then  folded  it  up  again.  "  This  letter  can- 
not be  for  me,"  she  said  to  the  servant.  "  Take  it  back.  A  mistake 
has  been  made. " 

"  But  mademoiselle,"  began  the  lackey. 

Without  listening  to  him,  however,  the  young  girl  opened  the  door, 
and  her  glance  was  so  significant  that  the  servant  paused,  bowed,  and 
abruptly  left  the  room. 

When  the  viscount  heard  of  the  result  of  this  embassy  he  consoled 
himself  with  the  thought :  "  She  can't  have  understood  me.  She  must 
have  fancied  I  was  poking  fun  at  her  ;  so  what  I  must  do  is  to  convince 
her  that  my  offers  are  real." 

Accordingly  on  the  following  day  he  got  together  all  the  ready  money 
that  was  available — some  ten  thousand  francs  or  so — and  purchased  a 
variety  of  handsome  presents,  a  cashmere  shawl,  some  valuable  lace,  a 
piece  of  silk,  and  several  beautiful  jewels.  Everything  was  carefully 
packed  inside  a  tasteful  corbeille,  which  was  placed  in  Louise's 
room,   thanks  to  the  connivance    of    the    doorkeeper   of    the    house 


140  LOVE    OK    WEALTH  1 

(liberally  rewarded  for  her  pains),  whilst  the  young  girl  was  absent  on 
an  errand. 

Alone  in  the  garden  Max  anxiously  watched  and  waited.  Surely 
Louise  would  not  be  proof  against  such  temptation.  "She  will  show 
herself  at  the  window,"  thought  the  viscount,  "and  then  I  will  appear." 
But  it  was  in  Tain  that  he  loitered  under  the  tall  plane  trees,  smoking 
an  incalculable  number  of  cigars.  Louise  did  not  show  herself  ;  and  in 
lieu  of  perceiving  her  the  viscount  at  last  caught  sight  of  his  valet 
hurrying  towards  him  from  the  house.  ' '  A  large  parcel  had  just  arrived, " 
said  the  servant.     In  fact  Louise  had  returned  the  corbeille. 

This  time  the  viscount  was  stupefied.  "  It's  a  miracle  ! "  said  he. 
"Here's  a  wonderfully  beautiful  young  woman  who  is  not  merely  poor, 
but  virtuous  as  well  !  Clodomir  was  right  after  all.  But  what  am  I  to 
do,  for  there  is  no  mistaking  it,  I  am  head  over  heels  in  love. " 

Ay,  what  was  he  to  do  ?  The  viscount  racked  his  brain  trying  to 
think  of  some  novel  stratagem  which  might  change  Louise's  disposition. 
But  despite  all  his  efforts  he  could  imagine  nothing.  In  a  few  days  his 
passion,  for  it  had  become  a  passion,  acquired  intense  development. 
Society  became  odious  to  him;  he  forsook  his  favourite  club  and  the  once- 
all-attractive  gambling  table  ;  and  experienced  sensations  he  had  never 
so  much  as  dreamt  about  before.  By  a  kind  of  intuition  he  now  divined 
Louise's  character,  and  realised  that  the  slightest  audacity  would  in- 
evitably ruin  all  his  chances.  He  passed  his  time  either  in  the  garden, 
or  else  in  roaming  round  about  the  house  where  Louise  lived,  hoping 
that  he  might  perhaps  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  out  of  doors,  since  she  no 
longer  showed  herself  at  the  window.  One  evening  whilst  he  was  in  the 
garden  he  espied  her  in  her  room,  putting  on  her  bonnet.  "  She  is 
going  out,"  he  thought,  and  he  immediately  hurried  into  the  street. 
But  it  took  him  some  time  to  make  the  round,  and  when  he  reached  the 
young  girl's  house  she  was  already  gone.  "Well,  at  least  I  shall  see  her 
come  home,"  thought  the  viscount,  and  he  remained  on  the  watch  during 
the  whole  evening.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  but  he  did  not  budge. 
When  at  last  Louise  passed  up  the  street  he  divined  rather  than  saw 
her,  so  swiftly  did  she  walk.  Still  he  went  home  quite  joyful,  albeit 
that  he  was  wet  through. 

Louise  was  well  aware  of  the  impression  she  had  produced  on  the 
viscount.  In  the  first  instance,  in  refusing  his  offers  and  presents,  she 
had  acted  without  an  afterthought.  "  He  will  forget  me  to-morrow," 
she  decided ;  and  now  Max's  strange  persistency  and  timidity  greatly 
surprised  her. 

In  the  midst  of  his  indecision  and  uncertainty,  the  viscount  would  no 
doubt  have  been  surprised  to  learn  that  his  cause  was  gaining  ground. 
He  was  not  a~v  expert  love-maker.  In  fact,  few  men  of  our  generation 
have  a  proper  acquaintance  with  the  tender  sentiment.  Love  has 
become  a  bargain,  and  thus  in  offering  Louise  a  number  of  costly 
presents,  Max  considered  it  certain  that  he  would  win  her  heart.  He 
was  mistaken,  as  events  had  shewn.  However,  his  after  indecision 
saved  him  ;  for  by  remaining  in  inaction,  by  contenting  himself  T'itb 
passive  but  obstinate  admiration,  he  played  the  proper  part,  the 
only  one  that  could  possibly  conduce  to  ultimate  success. 

Louise  had  not  merely  been  surprised,   but  she  had  felt  positively 


LOVE    OR   WEALTH?  141 

indignant,  on  receiving  Max's  presents  ;  whereas  now  his  timidity,  his 
love-lorn  air  prompted  forgivenness,  if  not  something  of  an  even  more 
tender  nature.  For  she  experienced  a  secret  pleasure  in  watching  him, 
a  feeling  which,  with  her  inexperience,  she  could  not  exactly  define, 
although  it  was  undoubtedly  the  prelude  of  love.  Yes,  she  had  felt 
her  heart  beat  faster  at  sight,  at  thought  of  Max.  And  what  girl 
could  have  resisted  ?  Here  was  this  young  fellow  of  noble  birth,  of 
seeming  wealth  and  power,  whose  audacity  had  not  shrunk  from 
insolence — here  he  was  timid  and  crestfallen  now,  passing  the  entire 
day  in  watching  whether  he  might  not  espy  her  for  a  single  moment. 
She  often  left  her  workframe,  and,  hiding  behind  the  window-curtain, 
looked  at  him  as  he  paced  restlessly  to  and  fro  under  the  tall  planes. 
She  noticed  that  he  was  fairly  handsome,  and  more  especially  that  he 
looked  sad.  By  degrees  his  sadness  so  moved  her,  that  at  last  she  gave 
up  hiding  herself,  and  her  smile  met  Max's  glance  when  he  looked  towards 
the  little  casement. 

One  day  an  idea  occurred  to  the  viscount,  and  seemed  to  him  an 
inspiration  from  heaven.  His  servants  had  failed  in  their  embassies, 
why  should  he  not  be  his  own  messenger?  Forthwith  he  fastened 
together  three  or  four  poles  used  for  training  the  young  trees  in  the 
garden,  and  thus  provided,  he  managed,  after  several  failures,  to  deposit 
one  night  a  large  bouquet  of  roses  on  Louise's  window-sill.  Joyful 
indeed  did  he  feel  when  on  the  morrow  he  perceived  the  flowers 
arranged  in  a  large  blue  vase  in  front  of  the  window.  And  more  than 
that,  Louise  thanked  him  with  a  graceful  smile. 

Each  morning  afterwards  she  found  a  fresh  nosegay  on  the  window- 
sill.  Her  fears  had  vanished  now  ;  she  loved  the  viscount,  and  let  her 
thoughts  float  down  the  stream  without  asking  herself  whither  it  might 
bear  her. 

But  one  day  Max  wrote  to  her,  and,  respectful  as  his  letter  was,  it 
revived  all  Louise's  apprehensions.  A  terrible  thought  arose  in  her 
mind.  Was  she  fated  to  become  his  mistress  ?  She  shrunk  instinct- 
ively from  the  idea  of  such  a  future.  Girls  of  the  poorer  classes  who 
have  neither  fathers  nor  mothers  nor  relatives  nor  friends  to  protect 
and  defend  them,  possess  necessarily  some  knowledge  of  evil,  else  how 
could  they  resist  it  ?  Vice  surrounds  them,  bold  and  cynical,  without 
respect  for  either  youth  or  beauty.  They  elbow  shame,  and  know  what 
fate  awaits  them  if  they  fall.     Examples  are  there  before  their  eyes. 

Thus  Louise  was  terrified  on  receiving  Max's  letter,  and  anxiously 
questioned  her  heart.  And  as  she  realised  the  truth — the  truth  that 
she  loved  Max — she  thought  of  flight  as  her  only  means  of  safety.  Yet 
she  remained — vowing,  however,  that  she  would  fight  against  this  love 
which  had  crept  unawares  into  her  heart — vowing  that  she  would  avoid 
Max,  avoid  even  his  glance.  The  days  passed,  and  she  clung  strenu- 
ously to  her  vow.  Max  was  in  despair.  The  most  beautiful  flowers  of 
the  garden  lay  withered  on  Louise's  window-sill,  or  else  at  the  foot  of 
the  wall  where  they  had  fallen.  Apparently  she  no  longer  cared  for 
these  floral  offerings.  She  hid  herself  moreover ;  a  large  curtain  was 
hung  before  her  window,  and  screened  her  effectively  from  view. 

To  say  the  truth,  her  sufferings  were  as  acute  as  Max's.  One  morn- 
ing she  received  another  letter,  and  fancying  at  first  that  it  came  from 


142  LOVE    OR    WEALTH? 

Max,  she  hesitated  whether  she  should  open  it.  But  at  last  feminine 
curiosity  mastered  fear,  and  she  tore  the  envelope  open.  To  her  sur- 
prise, however,  the  letter  was  not  from  Max,  but  from  her  old  neigh- 
bour, the  bohemian,  Clodomir. 

Clodomir  had  changed,  changed  considerably.  His  father — for  once 
relenting — had  sent  him  five  hundred  francs  ;  a  boulevard  theatre  had 
accepted  a  play  he  had  written  ;  and  a  second  class  newspaper  was  not 
merely  taking  his  "copy,"  but  actually  paying  for  it.  So  Clodomir 
now  had  a  real  apartment,  and  slept  in  a  real  bed.  To  quote  his  own  words, 
he  dressed  "with  fashionable  grace ; "  and  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  he  in- 
dulged in  three  meals  a  day.  Moreover,  he  was  settling  down.  Formerly, 
whenever  he  had  a  "wind-fall,"  it  had  been  his  wont  to  assemble 
all  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  and  regale  them  with  a  banquet ; 
whereas  now,  he  scouted  such  improvident  prodigality.  He  even 
thought  of  paying  his  debts.  "  I  am  becoming  respectable,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Is  it  the  effect  of  age?"  But  more  surprising  still,  this  ia 
what  he  wrote  to  Louise  : — 

"  Mademoiselle — yesterday  I  was  too  poor  to  ask  you  what  I  wish  to 
ask  to-day.  I  love  you.  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  Allow  me  to  call  on 
you  to-morrow  for  your  answer." 

This  missive  fairly  stupified  Louise.  She  knew  Clodomir ;  she 
remembered  him.  He  was  a  man  of  talent,  of  high  honour,  and  great 
moral  probity.  Could  she  accept  his  offer?  Would  she  not  thus  defeat 
Max's  attempt  to  seduce  her — supposing  such  to  be  his  intentions;  would 
she  not  escape  from  this  life  of  solitude  with  all  its  hardships  and 
temptations,  from  the  fear  of  old  age,  illness,  and  misery  ? 

Louise  was  the  daughter  of  a  contractor  named  Blain — an  active, 
hardworking,  intelligent  man,  who  had  risen  to  easy  circumstances, 
which  enabled  him  to  give  Louise  some  little  education.  But  a  banker's 
failure  ruined  him,  and  he  was  so  crushed  by  the  blow  that  he  did  not 
survive  it.  For  three  years  Louise  lived  under  her  mother's  care,  but 
Madame  Blain,  in  her  turn  was  called  to  the  tomb,  and  at  eighteen 
years  of  age  the  poor  girl  remained  alone — an  orphan  and  virtually 
friendless.  Her  mother's  illness  had  been  an  expensive  one,  and  when 
the  doctor  and  the  chemist  were  paid  there  only  remained  to  her  a  little 
stock  of  furniture,  part  of  which  she  sold  to  procure  a  small  sum.  She 
was  reduced  to  work  for  her  livelihood,  and  by  toiling  far  into  the  night 
she  managed  to  earn  some  fifteen  francs  a  week.  As  for  the  future,  her 
only  look-out  was  misery  or  the  hospital. 

Under  such  circumstances,  no  wonder  if  she  were  greatly  agitated  on 
receiving  Clodomir's  letter.  All  day  long  she  was  unable  to  work,  and 
her  night  was  passed  in  anxious  perplexing  thoughts.  Ah  !  if  Max  had 
only  written  her  that  letter — but  no  ;  Max's  love  would  be  luxury, 
splendour  perhaps — but  splendour  coupled  with  shame.  And  he  would 
not  love  her  always  ;  indeed,  perchance,  he  would  soon  abandon  her, 
and  then  she  would  be  reduced  to  solitude  once  more — solitude  embit- 
tered by  remorse. 

At  last  the  morrow  came,  and  Louise  was  still  undecided. 

There  was  a  knock  at  her  door,  and  Clodomir  appeared  upon  the 
threshold.  "Mademoiselle,"  said  he  in  a  trembling  voice,  "I  have 
come  to  learn  my  destiny," 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH  1  143 

Louise  made  an  effort  to  answer.  "I  trust,  monsieur,"  she  said 
"that  you  will  believe  in  my  gratitude  for  the  unexpected,  unhoped-for 
offer  you  have  made  to  me.  But  I  must  not,  I  cannot — "  She  could  say 
no  more,  tears  were  starting  from  her  eyes. 

"Then. you  refuse  mademoiselle — "began  Clodomir. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  pray  believe — " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  bohemian.  "  A  curse  on  my  foolish  pride,  on  my 
petty,  foolish,  miserable,  false  shame  !  Why  did  I  delay  ?  I  realise  it 
now — yow  love  another."  And  as  Louise  remained  silent  he  continued 
"Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and  yet  I — I  have  long  loved  you.  My  proposal 
is  that  of  an  honest  man,  who  asks  you  to  share  his  happiness  and 
sorrows,  whilst  the  other — " 

"  Oh,  spare  me,  monsieur — " 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  too  abrupt,  too  pressing,  mademoiselle,  perhaps 
you  would  prefer  to  reflect." 

"No,  monsieur,  no;  henceforth  it  is  impossible,"  answered  Louise, 
who  had  become  as  pale  and  as  frigid  as  marble.  "  It  is  impossible," 
she  repeated  in  a  lower  tone  :  "  adieu." 

"  I  am  going,  mademoiselle,  but  before  doing  so — forgive  what  I  am 
about  to  say — perhaps  some  day  you  may  need  a  friend,  a  true  friend's 
help — Remember  me,  and  count  upon  me."  Then  laying  his  card  on  a 
corner  of  Louise's  work  frame,  he  turned  and  left  the  room.  Tears  were 
streaming  from  his  eyes.  "Ah,  I  loved  her,  I  loved  her,"  he  gasped, 
"  I  would  have  made  her  my  wife,  but  she  is  Max's  mistress,  now — the 
plaything  of  his  fancy.     Ah  !  I  will  revenge  myself." 

In  the  meanwhile,  seated  on  a  garden  bench,  Max  had  espied  Clodo- 
mir in  Louise's  room  ;  and  on  his  side  also,  he  now  fancied  he  could 
guess  the  truth.  "  Pool,  triple  fool  !  "  he  cried.  "  She  has  fooled  me, 
and  I  lovelier!"  And  clenching  his  fists  he  added — "And  she,  she 
loves  Clodomir,  the  disinterested  defender  of  outraged  virtue.  How 
they  must  laugh  at  me  !  " 

At  this  thought  Max,  thoroughly  infuriated,  hastened  off  to  Clodo- 
mir's  abode,  rushing  in  like  a  madman.  The  bohemian  had  just  reached 
home.  They  both  had  great  difficulty  in  restraining  themselves,  for 
prompted  by  the  same  thought,  their  first  impulse  was  to  spring  at 
each  other's  throats. 

"Clodomir,"  cried  the  viscount.  "Louise  is  your  mistress.  She 
loves  you.  You  denied  it  to  me  once  before,  but  now  I  know  every- 
thing."    And  he  finished  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"Read  that,"  replied  the  bohemian,  throwing  on  the  table  his  letter, 
which  Louise  had  retnrned  to  him.  "  Read  that,  read  my  offer.  You 
will  see  which  of  us  two — " 

"  I  swear  by  my  mother's  memory,"  rejoined  Max,  "that  she  ia  not 
my  mistress  !  " 

"  Then  listen  to  me,  I  wished  to  make  Louise  my  wife.  False  shame 
prevented  me  from  owning  it.  I  have  long  loved  her,  she  can  only  be 
your's  on  conditions  that  she  becomes  your  wife.  She  shall  never  be 
your  mistress  whilst  I  live.  And  now,  farewell.  In  crossing  my  path 
you  have  destroyed  the  dearest  dream  of  my  life.  Make  Lousie  happy 
and  honoured,  and  then,  perchance,  I  may  still  remain  your  friend— but 
otherwise  no,  a  thousand  times  no  !  " 


144  LOVE   OR   WEALTH  1 

Clodomir  did  not  add  another  word,  nor  did  Max  think  of  rejoining. 
Leaving  the  bohemian  to  himself,  he  slowly  retraced  his  steps  home- 
ward, absorbed  in  thought.  For  the  first  time  the  idea  of  marrying 
Louise  was  presented  to  him,  and  his  mind,  his  heart,  had  so  changed 
during  the  last  six  months,  that  this  idea,  which  would  once  have  seemed 
supremely  ridiculous,  now  appeared  almost  a  natural  one.  In  fact,  he 
calculated  whether  it  would  be  difficult  to  realise.  What  would  his 
friends  and  his  acquaintances  think  of  such  a  marriage  ?  That  was  the 
great  point ;  for  above  everything  he  must  avoid  appearing  ridiculous. 
"  The  originality  of  the  thing  will  save  me,"  thought  he,  "  I  will  make 
as  much  stir  as  possible.  It  will  be  a  perfect  sensation,  but  a  week 
afterwards  everyone  will  have  forgotten  it.  Now-a-days  men  only 
marry  for  money.  I  shall  have  all  the  sentimental  women,  and  excitable 
people  on  my  side." 

As  for  his  father,  the  rigid  Count  de  Tressang,  Max  considered  it 
would  be  tolerably  easy  to  obtain  his  consent,  providing  he  presented 
matters  in  a  certain  light.  Old  prejudices  and  scruples  were  all  con- 
quered, and  the  viscount  decided  to  follow  Clodomir's  advice.  Indeed 
a  few  mornings  afterwards  he  knocked  at  Louise's  door.  "  Made- 
moiselle," said  he,  without  the  least  preamble,  "  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
if  you  will  be  my  wife." 


THE  HEIRESS  OF  THE  NOBLE  FAUBOURG. 

In  those  days  Mademoiselle  Henriette  de  Chevonceux  was  the  dream  of 
all  the  ruined  young  "swells"  of  Paris.  She  was  a  tall  girl  with  fair 
hair,  endowed  at  the  same  time  with  immense  wealth  and  an  extremely 
nasty  temper.  Nor  should  we  forget  to  mention  that  despite  her  height 
she  was  gifted  with  a  hump,  which  no  prodigy  of  the  dressmaking  art 
was  able  to  conceal. 

Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux  was  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and 
ruled  despotically  in  the  mansion  of  the  Rue  de  Varennes,  where  she 
resided  with  her  mother,  an  aged  coquette,  who  was  for  ever  seeking  to 
efface  time's  troublesome  blemishes,  but  whose  age  was,  nevertheless, 
perfectly  perceptible  beneath  repeated  layers  of  pearl  powder  and 
carmine.  This  respectable  marchioness  idolised  her  daughter  to  the 
astonishment  of  all  who  were  acquainted  with,  and  had  consequently 
suffered  from,  Mademoiselle  Henriette's  execrable  temper.  "  A  case  of 
maternal  blindness,"  said  some;  but  in  point  of  fact  the  marchioness's 
affectionate  indulgence,  passionate  admiration,  and  unchangeable  tender- 
ness, had  a  very  different  cause.  The  deceased  Marquess  de  Chevon- 
ceux, a  hard  viveur,  and  a  desperate  gambler,  had  left  but  little  money 
behind  him — some  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year  or  so  ;  in  fact,  just 
enough  for  his  relict  to  live  in  a  state  of  genteel  poverty.  But  it  so 
happened  that  a  miserly  old  uncle  had  bequeathed  his  entire  fortune, 
modestly  valued  at  five  or  six  millions  of  francs,  to  Mademoiselle 
Henriette. 

Now  Henriette  was  of  age  and  possessed  a  will  of  her  own.  She  kept 
the  keys  of  the  cash-box,  and  whilst  maintaining  the  house  on  a  princely 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH?  145 

footing  took  due  and  careful  note  of  each  item  of  recept  and  expen- 
diture. Certainly  whenever  she  had  a  whim  to  satisfy  she  sowed 
money  broadcast,  and  she  was  particularly  generous  as  regards  her 
mother's  fancies.  But  in  exchange  for  her  liberality  she  demanded  not 
merely  indulgence,  but,  so  to  say,  impassive  obedience  from  the 
marchioness.  She  had  quietly  explained  to  the  old  lady,  that  if  she 
were  not  obeyed,  she  should  simply  marry  and  cast  her  adrift  without 
making  her  the  least  allowance.  Now  if  this  contingency  had  in  the  one 
sense  become  the  marchioness's  bugbear,  fear  of  it  had  also  prompted 
|;hat  display  of  maternal  love  and  indulgence,  which  folks,  who  were  not 
(n  the  secret,  always  wondered  at. 

One  morning,  at  the  time  we  write  of,  Henriette  abruptly  presented 
ierself  in  her  mother's  room.  It  was  barely  nine  o'clock,  and  the 
narchioness  was  still  sound  asleep,  for,  far  into  the  night,  she  had  been 
daying  whist  with  His  Reverence  Monsignor  the  Archbishop  of  Araria, 
tie  dowager  Duchess  de  Pi6crott6,  and  the  Vidame  de  Pontauchoux. 
lut  regardless  of  her  slumber  her  daughter  abruptly  woke  her  up. 
"Mother,"  said  she,  "  I  want  to  speak  with  you  at  once." 

"Is  it  really  necessary  you  should  do  so  at  once ? "  pleaded  the 
marchioness  with  a  yawn,  as  she  raised  herself  slightly  on  her  pillows. 

"  Yes,  at  once,  mother." 

"Then  I'm  listening,  only  I  don't  hide  from  you,  Henriette,  that  1 
am  really  dreadfully  tired  this  morning." 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  have  finished  in  a  moment,  mother,  only  I  wished  to 
tell  you  that  at  last  I  have  found  a  husband  to  my  taste,  and  that  I 
mean  to  marry. " 

The  marchioness  sank  back  on  her  pillows  and  clasped  her  hands  as 
if  she  were  terrified. 

"Oh  1  don't  be  afraid,"  resumed  Henriette,  "you  shall  remain  with 
us ;  and  as  I  shall  still  be  the  mistress,  you  will  always  be  at  home. 
Don't  you  believe  in  my  affection  ?  " 

The  marchioness  breathed  again.  "  I  was  not  aware,"  said  she,  "that 
a  new  suitor  had  come  forward.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  come  forward  at  all.  Perhaps  he  has  never  thought  of 
doing  so,"  answered  Henriette  pensively. 

"What  ?    Then  how  ?    My  dear  girl,  you  forget  the  proprieties." 

"But,  mother,  I  relied  on  you." 

"  On  me  !    What  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  smooth  down  the  difficulties.  '  The  man  I  mean  to  marry 
is  the  Viscount  de  Tressang." 

"  Oh,  Henriette  !    Remember  he  is  ruined." 

"  That's  an  additional  reason.  He  will  owe  me  everything.  Besides 
I  have  enough  for  two  ;  and  then  his  father  is  wealthy." 

' '  But  he  has  led  such  a  very  wild  life. " 

"  Then  he  must  be  anxious  to  settle  down." 

"  But  he's  a  gambler,  my  dear— just  think,  a  gambler." 

"  That's  false,  mother,  quite  false." 

"Well  people  say  so,  dear." 

"  Yes,  those  who  are  envious  of  him,  no  doubt ;  for  really  he  is  the 
handsomest  and  the  most  distinguished  looking  of  all  the  young  men 
we  received  this  winter." 


146  LOVE    OR   WEALTH? 

"  Then  he  must  have  a  great  many  enemies." 

"  Well,  even  supposing  what  they  say  is  true,  I  will  correct  him ; 
and  besides  I  like  him." 

The  marchioness  remained  silent ;  as  usual,  she  was  under  her 
daughter's  influence.  But  suddenly  a  new  idea  occurred  to  her,  and  she 
raised  herself  once  more  on  her  pillows — "  But  you  scarcely  know  M. 
de  Tressang,  Henriette,"  said  she. 

"  Enough  to  love  him,  mother." 

"  But  my  dear  girl,  that  isn't  a  reason." 

"  Yes,  mother,  it  is  :  at  all  events  it  is  my  reason." 

"But  I  can't  go  and  ask  him  to  marry  you.  It  would  be  ridiculous 
People  don't  do  such  things.  Has  he  noticed  you  ?  Has  he  paid  yoi 
any  attentions,  spoken  to  you  of  marriage  ?  " 

"Oh  no!  not  at  all." 

"Well,  then?" 

"But,  mother,"  rejoined  Henriette  impatiently,  "it  is  precisely  on  ac- 
count of  all  that,  that  I  relied  on  you  to  help  me.  Just  think,  I  am 
growing  old,  and  it  is  necessary  I  should  marry.  I  am  sure  that  tie 
viscount  would  prove  an  excellent  husband.  Suppose  I  was  reduced, 
later  on,  to  marry  some  tyrannical  minded  man  who  would  insist  on 
separating  us.  I  should  be  very  grieved,  indeed  ;  and  you,  mother,  I 
don't  think  you  would  care  to  leave  me." 

This  little  speech  revived  all  the  marchioness's  apprehensions.  She 
pictured  herself  alone,  left  to  her  own  resources,  without  any  money  for 
pleasure,  without  even  a  carriage.  "No,  no,  Henriette,"  she  said, 
"  you  shall  be  spared  that  grief.  I  will  not  abandon  you.  But  before 
doing  anything,  I  must  reflect  how  we  can  manage  to  satisfy  your 
wishes." 

"Oh,  thanks,  mother,"  rejoined  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux,  "I 
am  reassured  now.  Remember,  I  rely  on  you. "  And  so  saying  she  left 
the  room. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?"  soliloquised  the  marchioness  as  soon  as  she  found 
herself  alone.  "That  girl  cares  nothing  for  the  proprieties.  She  is 
quite  regardless  of  what  society  may  say.  Ah  !  if  I  were  only  the 
mistress  !  It  is  absurd  to  think  that  I  can  go  and  ask  the  Viscount  de 
Tressang  for  his  hand  ;  and,  besides,  what  has  become  of  him  ?  People 
say  that  he  has  disappeared." 

The  fact  is  that  none  of  Max's  friends  had  seen  him  for  a  long  while 
past ;  all  inquiries  at  the  family  mansion  receiving  the  same  stereotyped 
reply: — "' Monsieur  le  Vicomte  '  is  not  at  home."  No  doubt  he  had 
left  Paris,  said  some  of  his  acquaintances.  Perhaps  his  father  had  sent 
him  into  exile,  or  might  be  he  was  at  one  of  the  fashionable  spas  with 
his  invalid  aunt.  But  no  ;  the  "  watering  "  season  was  over.  He  must 
be  in  Italy,  then  ;  no  doubt  he  had  been  carried  off  by  some  nymph  of 
the  ballet.  All  these  contradictory  rumours  were  discussed  at  length  in 
the  circle  which  Max  had  been  in  the  habit  of  frequenting,  but  none  of 
them  were  shown  to  be  exact.  The  viscount's  friends  certainly  never 
imagined  that  he  was  madly  in  love  with  a  work-girl,  and  that  he  was 
entirely  absorbed  in  this  passion. 

He  and  Louise  were  often  together  now,  for  their  marriage  was  agreed 
upon ;  and  Max  was  only  waiting  for  a  favourable  occasion  to  obtain 


LOVE    OB    WEALTH  f  14:7 

his  father's  consent.  He  was  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  before — ■ 
happier  by  far  than  in  those  days  of  folly  when  he  had  carelessly 
scattered  his  gold  and  his  youth  to  the  winds  ;  and  Louise  was  happy 
also,  for  now,  the  future  was  Max's  love  and  happiness,  instead  of  misery 
and  despair. 

i  In  the  meanwhile  the  Marchioness  de  Chevonceux  was  endeavouring 
to  think  of  some  means  of  bringing  about  her  daughter's  marriage, 
(vithout  exposing  herself  to  ridicule  ;  for  really  she  was  in  a  most 
lingular  situation.  Here  was  Henriette,  the  wealthiest  heiress  of  the 
ioble  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  courted  by  innumerable  suitors  whom  she 

J  ad  one  and  all  refused,  and  now  intent  on  asking  the  ruined  Viscount 
e  Tressang  to  marry  her.  "  Is  it  not  preposterous  !  "  thought  the 
liarchioness.      "  This  madcap  girl  will  be  the  death  of  me." 

"  Ah  !  if  I  were  only  a  friend  of  the  viscount's  father — the  old  Count 
de  Tressang,"  she  added,  "everything  might  then  be  arranged.  He 
>*puld  understand  a  hint,  and  profit  by  it.  But  I  have  really  not 
sjoken  to  him  four  times  in  my  life. " 

In  the  midst  of  the  marchioness's  perplexity,  and  whilst  striving  to 
recollect  under  what  circumstances  she  had  previovsly  met  the  Count 
de  Tressang,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  some  land  belonging  to  her 
daughter  in  Burgundy  adjoined  one  of  the  count's  estates.  They  were 
country  neighbours,  so  to  say,  but  how  could  she  profit  of  this  circum- 
stance, for  the  count  seldom  if  ever  left  Paris.  At  this  point  a  bright 
idea  occurred  to  the  marchioness.  Might  she  not  stir  up  some  frivolous 
little  lawsuit  about  encroachment  or  right  of  way  ?  The  lawsuit  could 
be  made  to  conduct  to  a  compromise.  To  effect  this  compromise  the  in- 
terested parties  must  have  one  or  more  interviews  together  ;  and  these 
interviews  could  but  lead  to  a  reconciliation.  Then  with  a  little  skill 
the  count  might  easily  be  induced  to  present  his  son  as  a  suitor  for 
Henriette's  hand. 

When  her  mother  acquainted  her  with  this  little  plan,  Mademoiselle 
Henriette  condescended  to  approve  of  it ;  and  three  days  later  her  agent 
in  Burgundy,  being  secretly  instructed,  felled  three  poplar  trees  be- 
longing to  the  Count  de  Tressang,  which  the  latter,  so  the  agent  said, 
had  planted  without  the  least  right  on  the  bank  of  a  ditch  intervening 
between  his  land  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux's.  The  act  was  a 
most  arbitrary  one,  and  the  pretention  altogether  preposterous.  The 
count  flew  into  a  violent  rage,  and  what  the  marchioness  had  foreseen 
occurred.  A  law  suit  was  commenced.  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux 
upbraided  her  agent.  A  compromise  was  talked  of.  Indeed  the 
marchioness  wrote  the  count  such  a  fulsome  apology,  that  he  could  not 
possibly  resist  her  proposal  for  a  reconciliation.  They  had  three  inter- 
views together  which  put  him  on  the  scent,  and  after  a  little  private 
conversation  with  Henriette  he  divined  her  thoughts  and  wishes.  He 
realised  that  Max  was  offered  a  superb  position,  above  anything  he 
could  have  hoped  for  in  his  present  impoverished  circumstances,  and  he 
went  home  highly  elated  and  determined  to  profit  of  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  ask  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux  if  she  were  willing  to  accept 
the  Viscount  Gustave  Adolphe  Maxinte  de  Tressang,  his  son3  for  her 
husband. 


148  LOVE    OR    WEALTH  7 

VI. 

THE  DREAM  AND  THE  REALITY. 

Louise  was  working  at  her  frame  ;  and,  seated  near  the  window,  Mai 
looked  at  her  lovingly  and  talked. 

"On  the  banks  of  the  Loire,"  he  said,  "between  Montcoreau  aid 
Candes — the  most  delightful  strip  of  country  in  the  world — we  will  have 
a  charming  country  house.  It  shall  be  built  midway  up  some  slope, 
crowned  by  a  wood  of  sombre  foliaged  chestnut-trees.  The  garden  shall 
be  laid  out  in  terraces,  and  watered  by  a  rivulet  winding  through  the 
copses.  All  the  walls  shall  be  decked  with  roses  or  fruit  trees,  or  else 
with  jasmine  and  honeysuckle.  Lower  down  the  hill  will  be  a  little 
wood  with  flowery  pathways,  edged  with  strawberries  and  violets  ;  the 
periwinkles  shall  twine  around  the  trunks  of  the  young  trees,  and  their 
little  blue  flowers  will  stand  out  against  the  dark  leaves  like  the  stirs 
shine  forth  in  the  deep  azure  vault.  Then  comes  a  meadow,  gently 
sloping  towards  the  stream,  and  girt  round  about  with  tall  poplars  and 
with  willows  dipping  their  branches  in  the  Loire." 

"Yes,"  said  Louise,  "  but  we  must  have  a  dairy  and  an  aviary  ;  and 
my  poor  little  linnet,  whom  I  love  so  much,  will  no  longer  remain  lone- 
some in  his  little  cage." 

' '  We  will  have  all  kinds  of  birds. " 

"  And  a  poultry-yard.' 

' '  Certainly,  and  pigeons. " 

"  What  nice  walks  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  and  rides  as  well." 

"And  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  the  evening,  we  shall  have  a  light,  swift  boat.  The  Loire  is 
so  beautiful  in  summer  when  the  moonlight  streams  over  the  poplars  and 
the  woods,  the  slopes,  and  houses." 

Max's  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux  had  been  decided 
on  by  the  Count  de  Tressang  and  the  marchioness.  Henriette  was  to 
bring  her  husband  an  income  of  200,000  francs,  abandoning  the  re- 
mainder of  her  fortune  to  her  mother.  The  count  on  his  side  had  agreed 
to  present  his  son  with  half  a  million  of  francs.  It  was  he  who  stipu- 
lated the  various  conditions  which  were  to  figure  in  the  marriage  con- 
tract. The  marchioness  scarcely  made  a  single  suggestion ;  indeed  she 
had  Henriette's  instructions  to  agree  tc  everything  that  the  count  might 
propose. 

So  the  money  question  being  decided,  it  only  remained  for  M.  de 
Tressang  to  present  his  son  formally  as  a  suitor.  He  would  be  immedi- 
ately authorised  to  pay  his  court,  and  the  marriage  should  take  place 
during  the  ensuing  spring. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  count  to  himself,  "  I  will  acquaint  Max  with 
his  great  good  fortune."  Excellent  father  as  he  was,  he  imagined  that 
his  son  would  be  delighted.  Such  a  position  1  Fancy — two  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year  ! 


LOVK    OB    WEALTH  ?  149 

Max  still  lingered  in  the  little  garret.  "Louise,"  said  he  "we  cannot 
remain  like  this  any  longer.  To-morrow  I  will  ask  my  father  for  his  con- 
sent. Perhaps  he  will  hesitate  at  first,  but  I  will  persuade  him,  convince 
him.     And  if  the  worst  happened,  we  could  do  without  his  consent." 

' '  No,  Max,  I  could  not  become  your  wife  under  such  circumstances  ; 
but  tell  your  father  how  happy  we  shall  be,  how  happy  we  will  make 
him.     Why,  I  love  him  already,  Max.     No,  he  will  not  hesitate." 

"No,  surely  no,"  rejoined  the  viscount.  And  he  believed  what  he 
said,  for  whilst  expecting  some  resistance,  he  felt  convinced  of  ultimate 

victory. 

******** 

Father  and  son  had  both  made  up  their  minds  to  speak,  and  strangely 
enough  they  had  each  selected  the  same  day,  and  the  same  occasion — 
dinner-time.  They  were  both  equally  impatient  for  the  hour  to  arrive, 
and  yet  the  count  was  not  without  misgivings  as  to  the  success  of  his 
scheme.  "  Max,"  thought  he,  "does  not  care  for  money,  and,  without 
her  fortune,  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux  would  scarcely  be  a  desirable 
wife.  However,  he  must  obey  me.  I  am  the  master  after  all ;  and  he 
is  my  son." 

"What  will  my  father  say  ?  "  thought  Max,  on  his  side.  "  A  young 
girl  without  a  name,  parents,  or  fortune  ;  in  fact,  a  simple  work 
girl.  Still  she  shall  be  my  wife,  I'm  determined  on  it.  I  must  be  firm 
and  he  will  give  way.  He  can't  wish  to  make  me  unhappy  for  life,  for 
after  all  he's  my  father. " 

When  the  dinner-bell  rang  Max  went  down-stairs,  full  of  resolution. 
Contrary  to  rule  he  found  his  father  in  great  good-humour.  "  How 
lucky  I  am,"  though  the  young  viscount.  "  With  address,  eloquence, 
persuasion,  and  energy,  I  shall  gain  the  fight.  Let  us  attack  the  enemy 
at  once." 

And  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  the  count  forestalled  him. 

"I  suppose  you  have  heard  speak  of  Mademoiselle  Henriette  de 
Chevonceux,  my  dear  Max." 

"  Certainly  I  have,  father." 

"She  is  a  most  charming  young  person,"  resumed  the  count. 

"  Charming,"  echoed  Max,  impatient  to  broach  another  subject  of  far 
more  interest  to  his  idea. 

"  She  is  an  excellent  musician." 

"Excellent." 

"She  paints  beautifully,  I  am  told." 

"Beautifully." 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  you  greatly  admired  some  water-colour  draw- 
ings she  brought  back  from  Italy  last  year." 

' '  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  father — "  ventured  Max. 

But  the  count  did  not  let  his  son  finish.  "  Mademoiselle  de  Chev- 
onceux is  wealthy,"  he  said. 

' '  Yes,  very  wealthy. " 

"  She  bears  one  of  the  noblest  names  in  France." 

Max  made  no  rejoinder. 

"Let  us  resume,"  proceeded  his  father.  "She  has  talents,  rank, 
position,  and  immense  wealth.  The  man  who  marries  her  will  be  a 
lucky  fellow." 


150  LOVE    OR   WEALTH  1 

«  Very  lucky." 

"Then  you  may  congratulate  yourself,  my  dear  Max." 

"  Congratulate  myself  ?    Why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Why,  because  the  matter's  settled." 

"  Eh  !  what !"  asked  the  viscount  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  it's  settled,"  repeated  the  count,  gleefully  rubbing  his  haiule 
together.  "  Haven't  you  just  now  told  me  that  Mademoiselle  de  Chev- 
onceux's  husband  would  be  a  lucky  man?" 

"  But  father—" 

"  You  have  just  told  me  so,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"But—" 

"Well,  you  are  to  be  that  lucky  man.  Your  consent  alone  was 
wanting.  But  now  you  give  it ;  and  so  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux 
will  be  your  wife." 

A  thunderbolt  falling  on  the  table  would  have  caused  Max  less 
terror.     "  But  it's  impossible,  father  !  "  cried  he. 

"And  why,  sir,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"Yes,  why?" 

"  But  first  of  all  Mademoiselle  Henriette  is  humpbacked." 

"That's  false." 

"I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  'Tis  a  mere  rumour  which  her  enemies  circulate." 

"Oh,  indeed!" 

"  Yes,  her  enemies.     Is  that  the  only  impossibility?  " 

"  No — everyone  is  acquainted  with  her  deplorable  temper.  No  one 
excepting  her  mother  can  abide  near  her.    Her  will  is  most  tyrannical." 

"  You  will  be  master  in  your  own  home.     Is  that  everything  ? " 

"  My  home  can't  be  a  hell.     Finally,  I  don't  like  her." 

"That's  a  pity." 

"Nevertheless  it  is  so." 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  the  count  with  a  bantering  air. 

"  Yes,  I  don't  like  her — in  fact,  I  consider  her  horrible." 

"  Then  I  repeat  it's  a  great  pity  for — "     The  count  paused. 

"For?"  queried  Max. 

"  For  I've  given  my  word  to  the  Marchioness  de  Chevonceux." 

Max  bounded  from  his  chair.  "  It  seems  to  me,"  said  he,  "that  my 
opinion  ought  to  have  been  asked." 

"  Well,  I've  just  asked  it." 

"  But  I  refuse  my  consent." 

"  It  won't  be  needed." 

' '  That's  too  much  !    We'll  just  see  ! " 

"Yes,  we'll  see,  sir,"  retorted  the  count  in  a  passionate  voice.  "We'll 
see  if  I'm  the  master  ;  we'll  see  which  of  us  two  has  to  give  way  !  " 

His  threatening  manner  fanned  Max's  courage.  "  Listen  to  me, 
father,"  said  he,  "I  swear  before  God  that  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux 
shall  never  be  my  wife." 

"Don't  swear." 

' '  I  swear  it  on  my  honour. " 

"Very  good.  Only  as  I  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on  you,  I  will 
allow  you  a  month's  reflection.     We  are  now  the  25th  October.    On  the 


LOVE   OR   WEALTH1!  151 

25th  November  you  shall  acquaint  me  finally  with  your  intentions.  But 
remember  that  you  owe  everything  to  me  ;  that  you  have  nothing  of 
your  own  left ;  that  you  are  dependent  on  what  I  am  willing  to  give 
you.  That  will  do  ;  the  matter  need  not  be  mentioned  again  till  the 
time  I  have  named." 

"But  I  don't  need  to  reflect," 

"Yes,  yes,  reflect,"  rejoined  the  count  rising  from  table.  "I  have 
an  interview  with  the  marchioness  this  evening  to  settle  certain  clauses 
of  the  contract."     So  saying  he  left  the  room. 

"Good  Lord  !  "  cried  Max  as  soon  as  he  was  alone. — "We'll  see— 
we'll  see  and  no  mistake.  To  think  of  my  marrying  that  horrible  girl— 
never,  never  !  "  and  the  viscount  enforced  his  words  by  striking  such  a 
violent  blow  on  the  table  that  five  or  six  plates  and  glasses  were 
shattered  and  fell  in  fragments  on  to  the  floor. 

Hearing  the  smash,  a  servant  hastened  in.  "Did  monsieur  the 
viscount  ring  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Max,  "for  you  to  pick  these  things  up,"  and  he 

strode  out  of  the  room. 

*#-*****♦ 

"Well?"  asked  the  Marchioness  de  Chevonceux  as  soon  as  she  had 
exchanged  greetings  with  the  Count  de  Tressang  that  evening.  "  Well, 
have  you  spoken  to  the  viscount  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  had  a  thorough  explanation  with  Max,"  artfully  replied 
the  count.  "To  say  the  truth,  he  is  not  very  well  and  keeps  to  his 
room." 

"  Then  you  have  not  told  him — " 

"Oh  !  I've  told  him  just  a  little — in  fact,  I  have  hinted  the  matter 
to  him." 

"And  what  did  he  reply  ?  " 

"  Well,  between  us,  I  believe  that  he  is  delighted." 

•'Really." 

"  Yes,  and  yet  I  was  very  circumspect  on  account  of  his  ill  health." 

The  marchioness  looked  suspiciously  at  the  count,  but  his  glance  did 
not  waver. 

"  My  daughter  knows  nothing  as  yet,"  said  Madame  de  Chevonceux, 
(Henriette,  indeed,  was  supposed  to  be  ignorant  of  these  transactions.) 
"  But  might  I  not  mention  the  matter  to  her  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  not  yet,"  M.  de  Tressang  hastily  rejoined.  "Wait  a  few  days 
longer." 

"  Count,  you  are  hiding  something  from  me." 

"  Marchioness,  I  assure  you — " 

"Come,  be  frank." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  So  there  is  something  then — some  difficulty,  eh  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

' '  Oh  !  I  know  nothing  for  certain  ;  only  I  fear — well,  I  fear  my  son 
has  some  love  affair  afoot.  Nothing  of  consequence  you  know — pro- 
bably some  mere  passing  fancy.  I'm  not  positive,  mind  you,  but  I  shall 
know  for  certain  to-morrow." 

"  Then  I  had  better  wait  before  saying  anything  to  Henriette  ?  " 

«« Yes — just  a  few  days  ;  it  would  be  more  prudent.  But  there  is  ho 
reason  for  you  to  be  in  the  least  degree  alarmed,  marchioness.     Re- 


152  LOVE    OR 

member  you  have  my  word,  and  my  son  would  never  think  of  leading 
me  to  break  it." 

"  Oh  !  in  that  case,  then,  surely  I  might  speak  to  Henriette." 
"  You  cunning  old  fox,"  thought  the  count,  "  you  want  to  find  out  if 
there  is  anything  amiss  ;  to  punish  you,  you  sha'n't  know  anything." 
And  he  added  aloud :  "Well,  yes  ;  you  might  do  so  after  all.  On  reflec- 
tion I  don't  think  it  would  do  any  harm.  Indeed,  perhaps  the  reverse." 
"I  was  mistaken,"  the  marchioness  decided:  "he  has  told  me  the 
truth.     And  now  I  must  tell  everything  to  Henriette." 


VII. 

LOVE   OR  WEALTH? 

Max  on  his  side  had  hastened  to  acquaint  Louise  with  the  unexpected 
result  of  his  interview  with  his  father.  She  had  been  waiting  impati- 
ently for  his  return,  and  she  was  seized  with  a  painful  presentiment 
when  she  beheld  him — for  his  distracted  glance  and  excited  air  betrayed 
the  bitterness  of  his  grief. 

"Oh!  Louise,  Louise!"  he  cried,  "I  am  most  miserable,  most 
wretched. " 

"  What  has  happened?  "  she  asked  in  an  anxious  trembling  voice. 

"I  nave  been  unable  to  speak  to  my  father — but  he  has  spoken  to 
me.     He  has  decided  that  I  am  to  marry  some  one  else." 

Having  partly  divined  the  truth  as  soon  as  she  perceived  Max,  the 
blow,  now  that  it  came,  seemed  less  terrible  to  Louise.  To  all  appear- 
ance she  was  quite  calm. 

"Yes,"  resumed  Max,  "he  has  decided  to  marry  me — to  marry  me 
in  spite  of  myself,  to  Mademoiselle  Henriette  de  Chevonceux,  a  hideous 
humpbacked  heiress,  with  the  most  dreadful  temper  in  the  world." 

"  Your  father  no  doubt  perceives  some  advantage  in  the  match." 

"  My  father  perceives  that  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux  is  tremend- 
ously wealthy,  and  that  she  bears  one  of  the  noblest  names  in  France— 
but  what  is  that,  Louise  ?  Can  wealth  and  rank  give  a  single  day's 
happiness  ?  " 

"  You  are  frank  in  talking  like  that,  Max— no  doubt ;  but  to-morrow 
your  ideas  might  change. " 

"Change?  No,  I  shall  never  change.  Even  if  my  father  disin- 
herited me,  cursed  me — " 

"  Oh  !  don't  speak  like  that,  I  beg  you." 

"Why  not  ?  Is  my  father  always  to  be  my  ruler  ?  Is  his  will  always 
to  weigh  upon  my  life  ?  What  do  I  care  for  honours  and  fortune  ! 
Haven't  I  learnt  to  despise  them  ?  I  should  a  thousand  times  prefer 
to  have  a  sun  ray  in  my  life— the  perfume  of  a  flower,  the  smile  of  the 
woman  I  love  !  "  n 

"All  that  is  very  well— when  one  is  young — but  later,  later — 

"Ah  !  later,  it  shall  be  the  same.  I  am  excited,  no  doubt,  but  re- 
member I  am  no  longer  a  child.  My  desires  are  no  longer  uncertain, 
my  preferences  confused.  I  have  reached  an  age  when  a  man  should 
know  what  road  to  choose  through  life  ;  and  I  have  chosen  mine." 


LOVE    OB   WEALTH  ]  153 

"Have  you  seriously  reflected,  Max?  " 

"  What  !  do  you  fancy  that  a  mere  passing  caprice  guided  me  when 
I  came  and  asked  you,  '  Louise,  will  you  be  my  wife  ? '  No,  no  ;  1 
had  reflected  beforehand.  When  I  came  and  asked  you  that  question, 
I  knew  that  I  should  meet  with  obstacles  ;  but  after  all  what  need  I 
care  for  them,  so  long  as  you  love  me  I  " 

' '  I  love  you,  Max  ;  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  but  I  should  have 
strength  enough  to  stifle  my  love  were  it  fraught  with  misfortune  for 

you." 

"Thanks,  Louise,  thanks  a  hundred  times.  What  do  I  care  for 
the  rest  !  what  do  I  care  for  my  father's  will  ?  And  besides  an  obstacle 
is  an  additional  attraction." 

"  But,  Max,  a  man  should  always  obey  his  father." 

"Louise,  what  I  have  said  I  feel.  But,  come,  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?     Instead  of  encouraging  me  and  helping  me — " 

"I  owe  you  the  truth,  Max  ;  I  owe  it  to  myself  as  well." 

"  Ah  !  you  never  loved  me  !  " 

"  This  is  not  the  moment  to  tell  you  if  I  have." 

"  Why  not  ?     Answer  me  frankly." 

"  Because  at  this  moment,  Max,  your  life  and  mine  are  at  stake.  Be- 
cause you  may  yet  retreat,  for  there  is  still  time.  Ah  !  think  of  the 
struggle  you  must  engage  in.  The  Viscount  de  Tressang  would  expose 
himself  to  many  a  cruel  deception,  many  a  pang  and  torment,  by 
marrying  Louise  Blain,  the  lace  worker  !  " 

' '  I  love  you,  Louise.  That  sums  up  everything.  Who  would  dare 
to  rail  at  me  and  brave  me  ?  I  am  not  one  of  those  men  who  fear  the 
opinion  of  society,  when  a  duty  has  to  be  performed.  I  follow  my  path 
to  the  end  without  caring  for  the  croaking  of  the  frogs.  I  made  you  an 
offer,  Louise  ;  you  accepted  it ;  and  you  shall  be  my  wife  !  " 

"  Reflect,  Max,  reflect.     Remember  the  future." 

"  What !  Always  these  fears  for  the  future,  which,  perhaps,  we  shall 
not  reach  !    What  do  I  care  for  to-morrow  so  long  as  to-day  is  mine  !  " 

Louise  made  no  rejoinder.     Perhaps  she  was  afraid  of  her  own  heart. 

At  last  Max  took  his  leave.  He  was  surprised,  and,  indeed,  grieved 
to  find  that  Louise  did  not  urge  him  to  resist  his  father's  wishes. 
Indeed,  she  scarcely  seemed  to  approve  of  his  resistance.  Her  manner 
had  been  singularly  cold  he  thought,  whereas  he  had  expected  her  to 
show  her  gratitude.  In  fact,  Max  did  not  at  all  understand  the  deli- 
cacy of  Louise's  conduct.  Such  abnegation,  such  disinterestedness  were 
as  yet  beyond  his  comprehension. 

Unable  to  account  for  what  he  considered  to  be  her  callousness  and 
apathy,  and  deeply  grieved  thereby,  he  did  not  pay  her  his  usual  visit 
the  following  day ;  which  the  Count  de  Tressang,  on  his  side,  devoted 
to  obtaining  information.  Max's  valet  was  only  too  willing  to  give  the 
count  his  version  of  his  young  master's  "goings  on."  The  servant 
owed  Louise  a  grudge  for  the  way  she  had  received  him  on  the  occasion 
when  he  called  upon  her  as  the  viscount's  envoy. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  exclaimed  the  count.  "A  little  love  affair. 
Well,  we'll  put  a  stop  to  it." 

That  same  afternoon  a  footman,  in  full  livery,  knocked  at  Louise's 
door,  ■ '  Here  is  a  letter  which  my  master,  the  Count  de  Tressang,  sends) 


154  LOVE   OR    WEALTH?1 

to  mademoiselle,"  said  he  as  soon  as  the  young  girl  had  opened  the  door ; 
"I  am  to  wait  for  an  answer." 

Louise  opened  the  missive  with  trembling  fingers,  and  read  as 
follows  : — 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  young,  and  you  are  beautiful,  and  at  my 
son's  age,  I  should  have  worshipped  you  as  he  does  himself  ;  but  I  am 
told  that  your  tact  is  on  a  par  with  your  beauty.  You  will,  therefore, 
understand  the  importance  of  what  I  have  to  communicate  to  you.  My 
son  has  reached  a  time  of  life  when,  with  such  a  name  as  he  bears,  it  ia 
necessary,  indispensable,  that  he  should  marry.  It  has  long  been 
decided  that  he  shall  marry  a  woman  who  loves  him,  with  whom  he 
will  be  happy.  Your  connection  with  him  should  therefore  cease  ;  at 
least  for  the  present.  I  will  not  speak  of  what  might  happen  later  on, 
provided  you  still  care  for  him. 

"  In  the  meanwhile,  however,  I  beg  you  to  receive,  in  proof  of  the 
esteem  I  feel  for  your  character,  the  enclosed  state  bond,  and  I  trust 
that  you  will  prevent  my  son  from  meeting  you  again,  as  these  inter- 
views could  only  compromise  his  future  prospects.  I  have  the  honour 
to  be,  mademoiselle,  your  very  obedient  servant. 

"DeTkessang." 

Enclosed  was  a  coupon  de  rente  for  1,200  francs. 

Louise  slowly  re-folded  the  letter,  without  thinking  of  the  servant, 
who  was  waiting. 

"  What  answer  does  mademoiselle  desire  me  to  give  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Return  this  to  Monsieur  de  Tressang,"  she  replied,  and  she  handed 
him  the  coupon. 

Once  alone  she  burst  into  tears.  "Oh,  mother,  mother,  what  humilia- 
tion," she  cried,  falling  on  her  knees  beside  her  bed,  and  clasping  her 
throbbing  head  with  both  hands.  She  almost  fancied  she  was  going 
mad.  But  her  prostration  did  not  last  long.  She  rose  to  her  feet  again, 
and  new  resolution  sparkled  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "the  count  is  right.  If  ever  I  became  Max's  wife, 
I  should  be  a  burden  to  him — I  should  bring  him  misfortune.  I  realise 
it  only  too  well  from  this  letter  written  to  me  by  the  count.  He  never 
thought,  perhaps,  what  a  terrible  insult  it  was.  Yes,  I  can  imagine 
what  folks  would  think  when  Max  introduced  me  to  them  as  his  wife. 
No,  we  cannot  marry.  It  was  a  dream  I  did  wrong  to  indulge  in ; 
an  illusion  which  I  must  sacrifice.  It  made  me  too  happy.  Such 
happiness  could  not  last !  Ah,  if  Max  were  not  a  nobleman,  if  he  did 
not  belong  to  a  wealthy  family  !  If  he  were  but  a  poor  hardworking 
artisan  !  "  For  a  moment  she  allowed  this  thought  to  linger,  and  her 
heart  swelled  as  she  pictured  to  herself  the  happiness  which  might 
have  been. 

But  she  was  soon  reminded  of  the  painful  reality.  "  I  must  be  brave," 
she  said  to  herself.  "My  love  must  be  great  enough  and  generous 
enough  to  accomplish  a  bitter  sacrifice  without  a  murmur."  Then  put- 
ting on  her  bonnet  and  her  shawl,  she  left  the  room. 

That  evening,  having  sold  her  little  stock  of  furniture — prized  as  it 
was — for  a  beggarly  sum,  she  moved  to  one  of  those  dingy,  petty 
lodging  dens,  styling  themselves  "hotels,"  which  abound  in  the 
populous  alleys  and  by-streets  round  about  the  Rue  St.  Denis.    At  first 


LOVK    OR    WEALTH?  155 

she  thought  of  writing  to  Max,   but  on  reflection  she  decided  other- 
wise. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "the  sacrifice  must  be  complete.  He  must  never 
know  my  love  and  devotion.  But,  O  God  !  may  he  be  happy  ;  may  his 
rich  and  noble  wife  lavish  on  him  all  the  love  which  I  once  hoped  to 
give  him."  And,  seated  at  her  little  table  with  her  face  resting  on  her 
hands,  she  remained  for  long  hours  weeping  for  the  happiness  she  had 
dreamt  of,  and  which  was  not  to  be. 

When  Max  returned  on  the  morrow  to  Louise's  old  abode,  he  way 
stupefied  to  learn  that  she  had  left.  The  doorkeeper  was  altogether 
ignorant  of  her  whereabouts.  "A  servant  came,"  said  he,  "a  tall 
fellow  in  a  handsome  livery,  with  a  letter  in  his  hand.  He  remained 
some  time  upstairs,  and  when  he  had  gone,  Mademoiselle  Louise  came 
down  and  went  out.  She  returned  with  a  furniture  dealer,  sold  him 
everything  excepting  her  clothes,  and  then  went  off  in  a  cab  without 
breathing  a  word  as  to  where  she  was  going. " 

"Fool  that  I  was,"  thought  Max,  "I  imagined  she  loved  me.  What 
a  lesson  !  Some  one  else  has  been  less  respectful  and  more  skilful  than 
myself.     However,  I  must  try  and  find  her." 

During  an  entire  week  the  viscount  prosecuted  his  investigations,  but 
it  was  trouble  lost,  for  Louise  could  not  be  found.  Two  or  three  agents, 
employed  to  search  for  her,  were  obliged  to  confess  that  the  task  was 
above  their  capacity.  Max  was  greatly  discouraged,  and  in  his  vexa- 
tion tried  to  prove  to  himself,  by  a  series  of  specious  reasons,  that  he 
cared  for  Louise  no  longer.  The  attempt  did  not  prove  successful,  and 
yet  the  viscount  at  last  consented  to  accompany  his  father  to  the 
Marchioness  de  Chevonceux's.  Henriette  was  supremely  happy,  the 
more  so  as  at  one  moment  she  had  feared  her  hopes  would  fail.  The 
proud  heiress — whose  caustic  language,  masculine  boldness,  and  superb 
disdain,  were  proverbial — showed  herself  most  charming  towards  Max. 
She  loved  him,  and  willingly  confessed  to  herself  that  she  had  found  her 
master.  She,  who  had  always  ruled,  now  longed  for  the  privilege  of 
obeying  Max,  in  whose  presence  she  became  as  timid  and  as  candid  as  a 
school-girl. 

The  viscount  was  greatly  surprised,  and  returned  home  in  an  altered 
frame  of  mind.  "  Does  she  really  love  me  ? "  he  asked  himself. 
"  Could  I  be  happy  with  her  ?  And  then  an  income  of  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  ?  "  .  However,  the  idea  of  marrying  for  money 

was  repugnant  to  him,  and  he  was  obliged  to  confess  to  himself  that  he 
felt  no  love  for  Henriette.  His  embarrassment  could  be  traced  on  his 
features,  and  his  father  joyfully  noted  his  perplexity.  This  was  a  first 
point  gained,  and  the  count  might  well  be  proud  of  his  skill. 

"My  adventure  is  certainly  singular,"  thought  Max  ;  "  suppose  I  con- 
sult two  of  my  friends."  And  among  his  sixty  or  eighty  acquaintances 
he  chose  a  couple  to  whom  he  explained  his  situation  without  reserve. 

"What  a  peculiar  idea!"  exclaimed  Count  L6on  de  Chaussey. 
"  Marry  a  work -girl  !    Why  it's  worthy  of  a  troubadour." 

"  I  could  understand  a  man  making  her  his  mistress,"  opined  Julien 
de  Voel. 

"  But  even  that— " 

"Yes,  yes,  remember  she  is  very  pretty." 


156  LOVE    OR   WEALfH? 

' '  But  now  she  has  ran  off  with  some  one  else. " 

"That  was  a  great  mistake  on  her  part,  for  she  has  lost  the  chance 
Max  offered  her  of  becoming  his  wife." 

"  Well,  no  doubt  she  had  fine  hopes,  but  after  all  they  were  hopes 
and  nothing  more.  She  probably  preferred  ready  cash.  You  know  the 
proverb  '  a  bird  in  the  hand  ? '  ", 

"But  I  offered  her  jewellery  and  cashmeres,  for  a  value  of  several 
thousand  francs,"  objected  Max,  "and  she  refused  the  gift." 

"Then  some  one  has  made  her  a  better  offer — twice  as  valuable  as 
yours. " 

This  talk  annoyed  the  viscount,  for  despite  appearances  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  believe  that  Louise  had  really  played  him  false. 
"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  all  this  doesn't  tell  me  what  you  would 
do  if  you  were  in  my  place. "' 

"  For  myself,"  said  L6on  de  Chaussey,  "I  should  begin  by  marrying 
Henriette." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  Baron  de  Voel,  "I  should  refuse  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  that  sour- tempered  heiress." 

"I  should  marry  her,"  pleaded  Chaussey,  "because  she  has  an  in- 
come of  two  hundred  thousand  francs — which  would  suffice  to  season 
the  least  appetizing  dish.  Afterwards,  what  could  prevent  Max  from 
finding  out  that  virtuous,  lovely  work-girl's  address?  He  would  have  all 
the  sinews  of  war  requisite  to  carry  her  off  from  her  seducer." 

"Well,'"  rejoined  M.  Julien  de  Voel,  "I  should  refuse  to  marry 
Henriette  for,  firstly,  Max  is  rich  enough  as  regards  his  own  expecta- 
tions, and  has  no  need  to  marry  for  money.  Secondly,  he  is  still  too 
young  to  tie  a  rope  round  his  neck.  And  thirdly,  he  ought  to  show  that 
he  has  some  little  will  of  his  own,  and  is  not  a  child  in  leading  strings," 

' '  Very  good, "  observed  Max.     ' '  But  which  advice  ought  I  to  follow  ? " 

"Why,  mine  of  course,"  answered  de  Chaussey. 

"  No,  mine,"  retorted  Julien  de  Voel. 

"Well,  let  us  refresh  ourselves,"  said  the  viscount,  and  scarcely  con- 
tent with  the  assistance  of  his  friends  he  sought  for  inspiration  in  the 
flowing  bowl. 

At  length  his  advisers  withdrew.  "  Make  haste  and  marry  Henri- 
ette," urged  Leon.     "No,  no,  refuse  her  hand,"  pleaded  Julien. 

"  Dear  me,"  thought  Max,  "  I  am  no  further  advanced  than  before. 
I  ought  to  have  consulted  three  friends  instead  of  two,  and  then  there 
would  have  been  a  majority  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  "  laughed  the  two  augurs  as  they  strolled  home.  "Really 
Max  is  a  singular  fellow.  So  that  was  the  reason  of  his  disappearance. 
He  was  in  love." 

' '  In  my  idea  his  faculties  are  giving  way.  He's  far  from  being  up  to 
the  mark." 

"  That's  my  opinion  also.  And  yet  he  used  to  be  a  strong-minded 
fellow.  I  recollect  that  he  was  a  true  sceptic  when  he  was  spending  his 
mother's  fortune.     The  change  is  certainly  singular." 

"Ah  !  age,  my  dear  boy,  old  age." 

"  And  then  his  father  is  somewhat  to  blame." 

"  No,  no,  his  faculties  are  failing  him.  Fancy,  he  refuses  two  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  a  year  ?  " 


LOVE  OR  wealth!  157 

Max  had  begged  his  friends  to  keep  their  conversation  secret,  but  on 
the  morrow  all  his  acquaintances  had  been  informed  of  his  singular 
ideas,  which,  in  the  world  of  Parisian  viveurs,  naturally  provoked  no 
little  merriment.  Some  choice  spirits  even  engaged  in  bets,  and  one 
young  fellow  was  so  bold  as  to  lay  two  to  one,  that  Max  would  be  fool 
enough  not  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Henriette  after  all. 

However,  time  passed  by,  and  the  viscount  was  still  as  irresolute  as 
ever.  The  date  fixed  for  his  decision  arrived,  and  he  was  obliged  to  ask 
for  a  short  delay,  which  the  Count  de  Tressang  readily  granted,  being 
well  acquainted  with  his  son's  character,  and  realising  that  gentle 
means  would  best  conduce  to  success.  Moreover,  there  seemed  nothing 
tq  fear,  for  Max  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house  of  Madame  de 
Chevonceux. 

"  I  must  forget  my  dream,"  he  would  say  to  himself  at  times,  "I 
must  bid  good-bye  to  my  plans  and  hopes.  I  thought  I  might  have 
lived  in  happiness,  that  I  might  be  loved,  but  fate  has  decided  other- 
wise." Then  thoughts  of  Louise  returned  to  him,  and  filled  his  heart 
with  sadness. 

He  was  not  acquainted  with  the  arrangements  made  by  his  father  and 
the  Marchioness  de  Chevonceux,  arrangements  which  resembled  so  much 
bargaining  on  either  side,  the  old  lady  being  anxious  to  retain  a  large 
slice  of  her  daughter's  fortune,  and  the  count  wishing  to  secure  to  his 
son  almost  the  whole  of  the  heiress's  property  ;  and  yet  he  instinctively 
revolted  at  the  idea  of  becoming  Mademoiselle  Henriette's  husband. 

"  If  I  only  knew  what  had  become  of  Louise,"  he  thought ;  "  if  I  were 
not  tortured  by  these  frightful  doubts,  by  this  incessant  worry,  my 
misfortune  would  be  less  painful  to  bear.  I  might  say  to  myself  ;  every- 
thing is  over,  let  me  endeavour  to  forget ; '  but  I  really  know  nothing, 
nothing." 

"  What  a  hypocrite  I  am,"  he  would  say  to  himself  at  another  time. 
"I  am  trying  to  conceal  my  baseness  and  cowardice  ;  and  yet  I  am  no 
better  than  the  rest  of  them.  The  idea  of  Henriette's  large  fortune 
tempts  me."  Even  at  that  moment,  however,  the  voice  of  conscience 
seemed  to  murmur :  "  No,  I  wrong  myself.  After  all  I  should  have 
preferred  Louise's  love. " 


VIII. 

MAX'S  CHOICE. 

It  was  a  dark,  unhealthy  chamber  on  the  fourth  floor  in  the  Rue  Sainte- 
Foy.  The  window  opening  on  to  what  was  called  a  courtyard,  in  truth  a 
fetid  well,  served  to  admit  but  a  pale  ray  of  light,  and  an  abundance 
of  pestilential  stenches.  The  furniture  had  reached  the  last  stage  of 
decay.  The  facings  of  the  wooden  bedstead  had  crumbled  away  ;  the 
seaweed  mattresses,  in  their  torn  tickings,  were  well  nigh  as  hard  as  the 
tiled  floor.  The  chest  of  drawers  was  propped  up  by  means  of  sundry 
bricks  ;  the  rush-seated  chairs  were  positively  rotten  ;  and  the  arm-chair, 
covered  with  shreds  of  various  hues,  was  stained  and  grimed  with  filth. 
Over  the  mantle-shelf  hung  a  dirty  little  looking-glass  with  the  quick  i 


158  LOVE    OK    WEALTH  1 

silver  half  worn  away.  And  yet  this  was  Louise's  abode.  For  more 
than  a  month  she  had  lain  in  bed  weeping  and  suffering.  Fever  had 
swollen  her  features,  and  left  its  marks  on  her  once  white  skin.  Her 
distended  eyes  had  a  fixed,  mournful  look  of  despair. 

A  portly  woman,  with  a  low,  brutal  expression  of  countenance,  and  a 
shambling  gait,  suddenly  opened  the  door  ;  at  the  sight  of  her  Louise 
perceptibly  winced.  "  Well,  my  girl,"  exclaimed  this  woman  in  a  hoarse 
guttural  voice,  "have  you  made  up  your  mind  ? " 

"  Oh  !  madame,"  pleaded  the  unfortunate  girl,   "I  suffer  so." 

"  Then  all  the  more  reason.  You'll  be  better  cared  for  in  a  hospital 
than  in  a  lodging-house  ;  and,  besides,  a  sick  person's  a  nuisance.  My 
sheets  and  mattresses  will  soon  be  spoiled  with  you  lying  always  in  bed. 
The  last  fortnight  you  paid  for  will  be  up  to-morrow.  Have  you  any 
money  ?  for  there  is  none  left  in  the  little  box." 

"What,  none  at  all?" 

"  Well,  when  I  say  none,  there  are  perhaps  three  or  four  francs,  but 
that's  all." 

"  But,  madame,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  there  were  still  forty  francs  less 
than  a  week  ago." 

"  A  week  ago,  I  daresay  there  were  ;  but  illnesses  are  expensive  mat- 
ters, you  know." 

"  But  what  have  I  taken  then  ?  " 

"Eh?    What  do  you  say  ?    What  have  you  taken  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  infusions  and  the  little  broth  I  drink 
can't  cost  very  dear. " 

"So  I've  been  robbing  you,  eh?  Is  that  what  you  mean,  you  little 
hussy?"  cried  the  fat  woman.  "I  rob  you  1  That's  my  reward  for 
nursing  you  !  I  rob  you  !  Well,  if  such  is  the  case,  just  jump  up  and 
dress  yourself,  and  clear  out.  Clear  out,  I  say  !  I  won't  have  you  here. 
Either  get  up  or  give  me  some  money." 

"  Oh,  madame,  pray — "  murmured  Louise. 

"  No,  no,  the  money  first ;  after  that  I'll  see.  And  first  of  all,  I  must 
have  nine  francs  for  the  next  fortnight's  rent." 

"  Oh,  you  shall  be  paid,  madame." 

"  And  when,  pray  !  " 

"  To-morrow — when  I  am  able  to  get  out.  I  have  some  money  put 
by?" 

"Where  is  it,  then?" 

"At  the  savings  bank." 

"  Really?"  asked  the  fat  woman  with  such  a  look  of  fiendish  cupi- 
dity, that  Louise  felt  positively  frightened.  "  And  where  is  your  bank 
book,  then." 

"  I  have  not  got  it  here." 

"Not  got  it  here?  A  pretty  story  indeed!"  cried  the  infuriated 
crone.  "  Trying  to  deceive  me,  eh  ?  Come,  come,  I'm  not  to  be  imposed 
upon  ;  so  just  get  up  and  take  yourself  off."  So  saying,  she  caught 
Louise  by  the  shoulders  as  if  to  force  her  out  of  bed. 

At  this  moment  an  inspiration  came  to  the  poor  girl.  "  I  have  a 
relative  who  is  well  off,"  said  she.  "  Take  him  a  note  from  me,  and  he 
will  come."  Then  with  a  trembling  hand  she  wrote  a  few  words  to 
Clodomir. 


LOVE    OR    WEALTH  ?  159 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  the  bohemian  was  by  her  bedside.  On  find- 
ing the  girl  he  had  loved  in  this  distressing  situation,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  And  Max,"  said  he,  when  after  a  moment  he  somewhat  regained 
possession  of  himself,  "and  Max,  has  he  abandoned  you  then?  Oh, 
if  that  be  the  ease — " 

"No,  Max  has  not  abandoned  me.  In  fact,  he  has  no  doubt  been 
seeking  for  me.    I  tied  without  his  knowing  it." 

"  But  why  did  you  do  so  ?" 

Louise  then  had  to  relate  the  circumstances  of  her  last  interview  with 
the  young  viscount,  and  inform  Clodomir  of  the  Count  de  Tressang's 
letter,  and  the  resolution  it  had  induced  her  to  take.  For  a  month  she 
had  remained  alone,  without  friends  or  assistance,  often  without  a 
drop  of  water  to  quench  her  thrist,  and  at  the  mercy  of  a  woman  who 
terrified  her  and  robbed  her. 

"  However,  I  had  confidence  in  you,"  she  said  at  last.  "  At  the  hour 
of  danger,  I  remembered  your  parting  words,  and  the  address  you  left 
with  me.     But  not  a  word  to  Max— promise  it,  swear  it." 

Clodomir  promised  all  she  asked  of  him.  "  You  cannot  remain  here," 
he  added.  "Let  me  go  and  speak  to  the  landlady.  I  will  soon  be 
back." 

That  same  evening  Louise  was  comfortably  installed  in  a  clean  little 
room  near  the  outer  boulevards  with  a  trustworthy  nurse  at  her  bed- 
side. Clodomir  made  all  necessary  arrangements  and  then  took  his 
leave,  promising  to  call  again  on  the  following  morning. 

On  reaching  the  street  he  hailed  a  cab,  and  bade  the  Jehu  drive  him 
to  the  Count  de  Tressang's  residence.  "  Viscount  Max?"  he  asked  of 
the  servant  who  received  him  in  the  vestibule. 

"  :  Monsieur  le  Vicomte'  has  gone  out  and  will  perhaps  only  return 
home  late,"  answered  the  valet.     It  was  then  nine  o'clock  at  night. 

"  What  a  misfortune  !  "  exclaimed  Clodomir.  "It  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  I  should  see  him  ;  so  I  had  better  wait.'' 

On  hearing  this  the  servant,  who  had  recognised  the  bohemian  as  one 
of  the  viscount's  friends,  at  once  showed  him  to  a  room  where  he  might 
wait  at  leisure. 

It  so  happened  that  on  this  same  day,  Madame  de  Chevonceux  was 
giving  a  grand  dinner  followed  by  a  ball.  Several  of  the  guests  who 
had  scouted  the  projected  marriage  of  Max  and  Henriette  were  delighted 
with  their  penetration,  and  went  from  group  to  group  announcing  that 
the  dinner  and  the  ball  simply  constituted  a  betrothal  entertainment. 
At  last  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  struck.  The  cotillon  had  been 
danced  ;  flute,  violin,  and  bassoon  wove  silenced,  and  saltatory  couples 
no  longer  glided  through  the  vast  ball-room.  At  the  card  tables  a  few 
inveterate  gamesters  were  finishing  the  last  deal,  but  otherwise  most  of 
the  guests  had  departed. 

Viscount  Max  and  his  father  now  approached  to  take  their  leave  of 
Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chevonceux.  Henriette  was  radiant ; 
and  gave  Max  a  tender  glance  as  she  offered  him  her  hand.  But  just  as 
the  viscount  was  bending  low  to  kiss  the  proferred  hand,  there  came 
to  him  such  an  acute  remembrance  of  Louise,  that  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  consummate  the  profanation.  He  let  Henriette  s  hand  fall 
and,  bowing  coldly,  turned  aside,  indignant  with  himself  for  his  irresolu- 


160  LOVE   OR   WEALTH? 

tion  and  cowardice.  The  Count  de  Tressang,  at  that  moment  speaking 
with  the  marchioness,  failed  to  note  this  little  incident.  As  the  carriage 
was  rolling  home,  Max  communed  with  himself.  "What  !  "  thought 
he,  "  must  I  marry  that  tall  ugly  girl,  simply  because  she's  rich  and 
I'm  poor.  The  more  I  see  her  the  more  I  dislike  her  ;  she  would  simply 
buy  me  like  one  buys  a  slave.  And  don't  I  love  elsewhere,  don't  1  love 
poor  Louise,  whom  my  love  has  perhaps  ruined,  whose  evil  genius  I  was, 
so  to  say.  No,  no,  I  cannot  marry  Henriette.  I  don't  know  what 
occasioned  Louise's  flight,  but  her  motive  must  have  been  an  honourable 
one.  She  loved  me,  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  will  seek  for  her,  better  than  I 
have  done  till  now  ;  and  when  I  have  found  her  again  she  shall  be  my 
wife.  It  is  time,  since  matters  are  now  so  advanced  as  regards  Made- 
moiselle de  Chevonceux,  that  a  rupture  is  sure  to  cause  a  perfect 
scandal.  JBut  I  cannot  lead  this  frightful  life  any  longer,  and  to- 
morrow, yes,  to-morrow,  I  will  end  it  at  any  cost." 

He  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  as  he  alighted  from  the  carriage.  In 
the  vestibule  a  servant  informed  him  that  a  gentleman  had  been  waiting 
to  speak  with  him  ever  since  nine  o'clock.   "Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  Max. 

"In  the  smoking-room,  monsieur  le  vicomte." 

At  sight  of  Clodomir,  our  hero  guessed  a  portion  of  the  truth. 
"  Where  is  Louise  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  She  is  very  ill,"  replied  Clodomir. 

"  But  where  is  she,  where  ?  " 

In  reply,  the  bohemian  related  what  he  had  seen  and  what  he  had 
done. 

"You  have  a  noble  heart,  Clodomir,"  said  Max,  pressing  his  friend's 
hand.  "  As  for  myself,  I  am  but  a  coward.  Still  everything  may  yet 
be  repaired." 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  shall  soon  know.  Wait  for  me  here,  it  will  not  take  me  long." 
W  jth  these  words  Max  hastened  to  his  father's  room. 

"  The  Count  de  Tressang,  before  retiring  to  rest,  was  intent  on  combin- 
ing an  affair  which  would  yield  a  handsome  profit,  and  disturbed  in  the 
midst  of  his  calculations,  he  looked  up  with  an  air  of  annoyance  when  his 
son  entered  the  apartment. 

"  Father,"  said  the  viscount  in  a  firm  voice,  despite  his  emotion, 
"  father,  I  have  deceived  you.  I  cannot  become  Mademoiselle  de 
Chevonceux's  husband." 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  count,  turning  livid  with  rage,  "it  is  now 
too  late  to  withdraw.  You  are  engaged,  and  you  must  marry  Made- 
moiselle Henriette. " 

"  It's  impossible,  father." 

"  Take  care,"  said  the  count.  "  Take  care.  Don't  you  know  that  I 
can  shatter  you  like  a  glass  if  you  refuse  to  obey  me  ?  " 

"Believe  me,  father,  it  is  not  without  deep  regret  that  I  frustrate  all 
your  plans  for  the  future  ;  but  honour  requires — and  indeed  I  owe  it  to 
myself — that  I  should  marry  the  woman  I  love,  and  no  matter  what  Ii]!W 
happen,  I  mean  to  marry  her. " 

"  And  who  is  this  woman?" 

"  A  young  girl  who  is  both  beautiful  and  virtuous," 

s*Her  name,  her  name  ?  •' 


LOVK    OR    WEALTH?  161 

"  You  do  not  know  her,  father;  she  is — she  is  a — work-girl." 

"  Louise  Blain  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  Max  indignantly.     "  So  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  her." 

"Then  it  was  you,  father,  you  who — " 

The  count  waved  his  hand  imperiously,  and  without  paying  L  eed  to 
Max's  unfinished  question,  asked  in  his  turn  :  "  So  you  think  of  marry- 
ing your  mistress  ? " 

"  I  swear  to  you,  father — " 

"  That's  enough  !  "  exclaimed  the  count,  who  could  no  longer  contain 
his  swelling  anger.     "  You  have  decided  not  to  obey  me?" 

"  Believe  me,  father — " 

"  Then  take  yourself  off,  sir  ;  leave  my  house  !  I  dismiss  you,  I  disown 
you.  You  are  no  longer  my  son  !  You  are  ruined,  you  have  nothing 
left — do  you  hear  me  ? — nothing  !  And  don't  count  on  anything  from 
me !  Live  as  it  pleases  you ;  but  above  everything  forget  that  your  father 
is  the  Count  de  Tressang.     Have  you  reflected  ?     Are  you  decided  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  decided,  father." 

"  Then  leave  the  house  at  once  !  "  cried  the  count  with  a  threatening 
gesture. 

Max  bowed,  and  retired  from  the  room. 

One  hour  later  he  left  the  family  mansion  accompanied  by  Clodomir, 
and  taking  everything  he  had  a  claim  to,  away  with  him.  His  valet 
packed  his  trunks  as  if  he  were  starting  on  a  journey.  The  servants 
were  generally  ignorant  of  the  scene  which  had  taken  place  between  the 
father  and  the  son  ;  and  on  the  following  morning,  the  count  explained 
Max's  departure  by  remarking  that  he  had  gone  to  the  family  estates  in 
Burgundy.  This  news  was  repeated  ' '  below  stairs  "  by  M.  de  Tressang's 
valet  de  chambre,  and  during  a  few  days  was  generally  accepted  as 
correct.  But  servants  are  by  nature  inquisitive,  anxious  to  discover 
what  their  masters  hide,  and  prone  to  doubt  what  is  told  them.  Fellow 
footmen  compare  notes,  the  cook  and  the  coachman  exchange  remarks, 
and  the  general  tittle  tattle  of  the  servants'  hall  often  inspires  a  sagacious 
menial  with  an  accurate  guess  as  to  what  has  really  occurred  in  madame's 
boudoir  or  in  master's  study.  In  the  present  instance  various  strange 
circumstances  were  brought  together.  Clodomir's  visit  ;  his  air  of  mys- 
terious concern,  and  his  pertinacity  in  waiting  for  the  viscount  till  half- 
past  two  in  the  morning.  A  woman's  name,  overheard  by  the  viscount's 
valet,  who,  instead  of  accompanying  his  master,  had  received  orders  to 
remain  in  Paris.  The  fact  that  the  viscount  had  gone  off  at  such  a 
strange  hour  with  his  frisnd  and  his  boxes  in  a  cab,  without  waiting  for 
the  morning  mail,  and  driving  to  the  railway  station  in  one  of  the 
carriages.  Moreover,  as  the  butler  was  going  up  to  bed,  he  had  fancied 
he  heard  the  count  and  the  viscount  exchanging  angry  words  in  the 
former's  room.  All  these  little  circumstances  put  together,  told  a  very 
strange  story  indeed.  Half  the  truth  was  known  and  the  remainder 
guessed.  From  house  to  house  did  the  rumour  of  Max's  flight  spread, 
until,  at  last,  it  reached  the  ears  of  Henriette.  She  had  been  surprised 
by  Max's  cold  leave-taking  on  the  occasion  of  their  last  meeting,  and  his 
subsequent  prolonged  absence  had  seemed  very  singular.  On  learning 
the  truth,  or  at  any  rate  such  of  it  as  was  known,  she  flew  into  a  violent 


162  LOVE   OR  WEALTH? 

passion,  wreaking  most  of  her  anger  on  the  unfortunate  marchioness. 
From  anger  Henriette  passed  to  grief,  indeed,  to  such  bitter  despair, 
that  all  her  enemies  were  elated.  At  any  other  moment  Mademoiselle 
de  Chevonceux  would  have  tried  to  conceal  her  feelings,  conscious  that 
her  foes  were  legion,  and  anxious  not  to  afford  them  any  subject  for 
rejoicing.  Moreover,  she  ordinarily  strove  to  avoid  ridicule  ;  but  now 
she  cared  little  whether  she  were  ridiculous  or  not.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  the  great  heiress  knew  the  meaning  of  misfortune,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  death  alone  could  relieve  her  from  her  sufferings. 
Indeed,  she  had  serious  thoughts  of  taking  the  veil  and  ending  her  life 
in  a  convent.  As  for  the  marchioness,  she  received  no  one ;  the  door- 
keeper having  strict  instructions  to  meet  every  inquiry  with  the  answer, 
that  the  ladies  were  not  at  home. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Count  de  Tressang  asked  himself,  "  Well, 
what  will  my  son  do  ?  Marry  that  girl  ?  No,  really,  he  can't  seriously 
think  of  any  such  folly  !  What  can  he  hope  for  ?  Misery  will  soon 
bring  him  back  to  me.  Come,  how  long  can  I  give  him  ?  Let  us  say 
two  months  to  grow  tired  of  his  mistress,  two  more  to  exhaust  his  last 
resources,  and  a  final  one  to  conquer  his  self-esteem — in  all,  five  months. 
Mademoiselle  Henriette  is  a  sensible  young  woman.  She  will  certainly 
learn  to  be  patient.  Max  is  not  lost  to  her  yet ;  and  the  difficulties  in 
the  way  will  give  an  additional  charm  to  the  conquest." 

Imbued  with  this  last  idea,  the  Count  de  Tressang  at  once  made  up  his 
mind.  "Come,"  said  he,  "I  mustn't  lose  my  head.  All  the  re- 
sponsibility devolves  on  me.  Max  has  taken  himself  off ;  Mademoiselle 
de  Chevonceux  is  in  despair  ;  and  I'll  be  bound  that  the  old  marchion- 
ess has  well  nigh  lost  her  senses.  All  that  means  so  much  work  for  me, 
and  I  must  set  about  my  task  at  once." 

Accordingly,  he  hastened  to  call  on  Madame  de  Chevonceux,  whose 
door,  albeit  forbidden  to  everyone  else,  was  thrown  wide  open  at  his 
approach.  Henriette  was  particularly  glad  to  see  him.  "At  last," 
thought  she,  "  I  shall  know  the  truth." 

Her  surmise  was  tolerably  correct,  for  the  count  made  a  clean  breast 
of  almost  everything  ;  still,  at  the  same  time,  he  took  it  upon  himself  to 
revive  Henriette's  hopes.  "Max  is  certain  to  come  back,"  said  he, 
"for  he  is  ruined.  Pity  him,  mademoiselle,  but  do  not  deny  him  your 
affection.     You  will  see  him  repentant  at  your  feet." 

Encouraged  by  these  words,  Henriette  cast  aside  her  despair,  and  once 
more  indulged  in  hopes  for  the  future. 

Louise,  on  her  side,  was  rapidly  returning  to  health  after  her  cruel 
trials.  And  in  reality,  is  not  happiness  the  best  physician  ?  Max  had 
disposed  of  such  resources  as  he  still  possessed  to  purchase  the  necessary 
furniture  for  a  modest  household,  and  assisted  by  Clodomir,  who  still 
took  a  tender  interest  in  the  woman  he  had  once  loved,  whom  he  had 
wished  to  make  his  wife,  the  viscount  was  able  to  obtain  fairly  decent 
goods  for  a  comparatively  small  outlay. 

In  a  few  days  everything  was  ready,  and  Louise  was  installed  in  her 
new  abode  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Rue  de  Fleurus.  Pending  their 
marriage,  Max  rented  a  small  furnished  room  a  short  distance  off.  "  I 
will  endeavour  to  obtain  some  employment  to  permit  us  to  live,"  said 
he  to  Clodomir,  "and  as  soon  as  I  have  found  it  we  will  be  married." 


LOVE   OR  WEALTH?  163 

"Don't  let  that  delay  you,"  replied  his  friend.  " There  is  nothing 
to  prevent  you  from  looking  out  for  employment  while  you  fulfil  the 
preliminary  formalities  required  for  your  marriage.  And  besides,  re- 
memember  this,  as  soon  as  you  are  married  your  father's  anger  will  give 
Way.     I  feel  certain  of  it,  so  make  haste." 

Max  followed  this  advice,  and  three  days  later  the  Count  de  Tressang, 
who  had  formally  refused  his  consent  to  his  son's  marriage  with  Louise, 
received  a  first  respectful  summons.  *  At  the  first  word  of  the  act  read 
to  him  by  the  notary,  the  count  flew  into  a  violent  passion.  "  Never," 
cried  he.  "Never!  I'll  prevent  that  marriage!"  and  as  the  notary 
explained  to  him  that  nothing  in  the  world  could  prevent  Max  from  ex- 
ercising his  undoubted  rights,  for  he  was  of  age,  and  a  French  citizen  to 
boot,  the  count,  like  a  great  lord  that  he  was,  threatened  to  kick  the 
legal  functionary  out  of  his  house. 

But  in  a  few  curt  words  the  notary  explained  to  M.  de  Tressang  that 
although  he  was,  no  doubt,  a  very  wealthy  and  very  great  nobleman,  the 
law  would  punish  such  violence  in  the  most  exemplary  fashion  ;  where- 
upon the  count,  reduced  to  vent  his  rage  on  inanimate  objects,  smashed 
a  quantity  of  costly  bric-a-brac  which  he  had  collected  after  great  re- 
search and  trouble. 

"And  to  think,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  the  notary  had  retired,  "to 
think  that  we  have  no  longer  any  Bastille,  no  longer  any  For-1'Eveque, 
no  more  lettres-de-cachet  !  Ah  !  in  the  old  days  I  could  have  easily  shut 
up  my  son,  and  sent  that  hussy  to  rot  in  some  dark  dungeon  !  Oh  !  the 
revolution  1  The  revolution!  It  has  robbed  us  noblemen  of  every- 
thing ! "  And  utterly  crushed  by  the  consciousness  of  his  helplessness, 
he  sank  into  an  arm-chair. 

A  second  summons  followed  the  first  one,  and  albeit  that  the  count 
still  protested,  a  third  and  last  one  came.  Finally,  Max  sent  all  his 
friends  the  following  circular  note  : — 

"The  Viscount  Gustave  Adolphe  Maxime  de  Tressang  has  the 
honour  to  inform  you  of  his  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Louise  Blain." 

The  wedding  took  place  at  the  church  of  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Two  of  Max's  former  friends  served  as 
witnesses,  for  Clodomir  had  his  reasons  not  to  attend.  That  same  day 
an  attack  of  apoplexy  almost  killed  the  Count  de  Tressang.  Max's 
boldness  and  disdain  for  what  others  might  think,  saved  his  reputation. 
His  marriage  caused  a  great  stir,  well  nigh  a  scandal,  but  at  least  he 
did  not  seem  ridiculous. 

"Mother,"  said  Henriette  to  the  Marchioness  de  Chevonceux,  "the 
Tressangs  are  scoundrels ;  they  have  both  deceived  us.  I  must  have  my 
revenge." 

Fortunately,  the  marchioness  succeeded  in  proving  to  her  daughter 
that  any  additional  scandal  would  entirely  destroy  her  reputation. 

*  In  France  a  young  man  under  five-and-twenty  cannot  marry  without  the  paternal 
consent ;  but,  if  above  that  age,  he  may  do  so,  providing  that,  at  stated  intervals,  he  for- 
mally signifies  his  intention  in  three  successive  legal  acts  drawn  up  by  a  notary,  and 
entitled  summations  respectneuses.  These  sommations  are  imperative  as  long  as  the 
Intending  bridegroom  is  under  forty  years  of  age  ;  or  unless  he  has  been  previously 
married,  in  which  case  the  formality  is  dispensed  with.  Should  his  father  and  mother 
both  be  dead,  the  sommations  must  be  sent  to  his  grand-parents,  or  to  his  guardian  if 
he  be  legally  provided  with  one.— £Trans.] 


164  LOVE    OR    WEALTH  1 

"After  all,  mother,  I  cannot  be  angry  with  Max,"  said  Henriette. 
"All  this  could  not  have  happened  if  the  count,  his  father,  had  acted 
frankly  and  told  us  the  plain  truth.  I  always  felt  that  Max  would 
never  love  me.  What  can  be  done  now  ?  Nothing  ;  and  yet,  mother, 
if  I  had  been  his  wife  he  would  have  been  happy  ;  at  least,  I  think  so, 
for  he  would  have  mastered  me," 

Shortly  afterwards,  Madame  de  Chevonceux  and  her  daughter  left 
Paris  for  Germany,  where  some  of  the  marchioness's  relatives  resided. 
Henriette  had  preferred  this  journey  to  the  convent  where  she  had,  at 
first,  thought  of  retiring. 


IX. 

CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 

Despite  Louise's  economy,  the  resources  of  the  young  couple  gradually 
came  to  an  end.  Max  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  the  employment  he 
hoped  for.  Now-a-days,  indeed,  young  men  belonging  to  what  is  called 
society,  are  so  educated  that  they  know  nothing  they  might  turn  to  use 
at  any  given  moment.  Max,  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  admirably 
schooled — Max,  who  in  the  most  critical  society  in  the  world  had,  despite 
all  his  youthful  freaks,  been  looked  upon  as  an  accomplished  nobleman, 
almost  as  a  wit— Max  who  had  been  an  embassy  attacliA  (for  a  brief 
period  it  is  true),  but  who  sooner  or  later,  thanks  to  the  family  influence, 
would  certainly  have  become  an  ambassador,  now  found  himself  unable 
to  earn  1,200  francs  a  year. 

Casting  his  pride  on  one  side,  he  had  gone  in  all  directions  humbly 
asking  that  his  courage  and  intelligence  might  be  utilised,  but  every- 
where he  had  encountered  discouraging  refusals.  For  a  brief  period  he 
had  one  scanty  resource,  that  of  copying  documents  for  a  solicitor,  but 
even  this  all  but  unremunerated  work  came  to  an  end.  By  degrees,  all 
disposable  objects  in  the  little  household  were  turned  to  account — sold 
or  carried  to  the  pawnbrokers.  For  instance,  a  few  silver  spoons  and 
forks  purchased  prior  to  the  wedding  ;  then  such  little  jewellery  as  he 
and  Louise  possessed.  Little  by  little,  bit  by  bit,  everything  followed 
the  same  road — the  books,  the  linen,  and  the  clothes. 

Max  then  learnt  to  know  what  misery  was  ;  not  that  careless  misery 
which  we  elbow  every  day,  misery  which  travels  through  life  in  the  open 
sunlight,  with  head  erect  and  smiling  lips,  careless  and  almost  content, 
accepting  things  as  they  come,  and  taking  no  pains  to  hide  its  naked- 
ness ;  but  that  decent  reserved  misery  which  trembles  with  very  shame 
and  tries  to  conceal  itself.  The  misery  of  "  shabby  gentility,"  arrayeqiin 
a  dress  coat,  and  a  white  choker,  spending  threepence  for  dinner,  shWer- 
ing  at  winter-tide  in  a  bare  fireless  room  ;  but  wearing  gloves  and  ever 
striving  to  conceal  the  truth— in  one  word,  the  most  horrible  misery  in. 
the  world,  starving  and  yet  complaining  of  indigestion,  a  slave  to  the 
proprieties  and  decorum. 

One  day  the  very  last  napoleon  was  changed,  and  soon  afterwards* 
there  was  not  even  any  bread  in  the  house.  There  was  nothing  left  to. 
seJJ  or  pawn ;  for  the  landlord,  mindful  of  his  rent,  would  not  Etllow  any, 


LOVE    OK    WEALTH?  165 

article  of  furniture  to  be  removed.  So  there  was  no  resource,  and  no 
•more  bread. 

Max  was  in  despair  ;  but  at  last  summoning  his  courage,  he  went  out 
in  search  of  Clodomir.  "Have  you  any  money,  my  poor  friend ?  "  said 
he  to  the  bohemian. 

"Yes,  fortunately  I  have,"  replied  the  latter.  "  Here  is  my  purse. 
But  better  still,  I  have  found  a  situation  for  you. " 

"Indeed  !    Is  it  certain ?    What  kind  of  situation  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  certain  enough,  but  perhaps  it  won't  suit  you. " 

"  But  anything  would  suit  me,  my  dear  fellow." 

"Well,  it's  a  situation  as  clerk  in  a  parcels'  delivery  concern." 

"  And  how  much  sh  .11 1  earn  ?  " 

"Fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year." 

"  How  indebted  I  am  to  you,  Clodomir  !  When  ought  I  to  go  there  ?  " 

"You  can  begin  your  duties  to-morrow.  You  are  warmly  recom- 
mended by  a  friend  of  mine,  your  situation  has  been  fully  explained, 
and  you  can  receive  a  small  sum  in  advance.  You  will  have  to  deal 
with  very  worthy  people." 

Max  took  down  the  address,  and  having  provided  himself  with  a 
napoleon  from  Clodomir's  purse — for  there  were  urgent  necessities  which 
could  not  wait  until  the  morrow — exclaimed,  "  Good-bye,  my  friend,  and 
thanks.  Louise  must  be  getting  anxious.  I  will  see  you  again  to- 
morrow." 

Louise  was  quite  joyful  at  the  good  news;  and  when  Max  opined  that 
after  all,  fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year  was  very  little,  she  rejoined  : 
"But  no,  dear,  with  what  I  can  earn  we  shall  almost  be  rich.  For  I 
mean  to  begin  working  again.     I  am  determined  on  it." 

"As  you  will,  my  good  Louise.     We  will  both  of  us  work,  then." 

"  Yes,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  economise  for  our  country  house. 
Don't  you  remember  that  charming  house  you  spoke  about  on  the  banks 

of  the  Loire?  " 

.**■*■***** 

Max  had  been  at  work  for  five  months,  and  happiness  and  contentment 
had  returned  to  his  abode.  One  day  the  Count  de  Tressang  heard  that 
his  only  son,  his  heir,  the  future  representative  of  the  noble  house  of 
Tressang,  was  earning  his  living  as  somebody's  clerk.  At  this  news  his 
pride  was  disturbed,  and  more  still,  he  felt  that  paternal  love  still 
lingered  in  his  heart.  At  last  he  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and 
so,  one  morning,  he  betook  himself  to  the  little  apartment  in  the  Rue 
de  Fleurus.  Everything  was  beautifully  bright  and  clean,  and  even 
tasteful,  despite  its  simplicity.  A  springtide  sun  ray  darted  through 
the  spotless  curtains.  Near  the  window  stood  a  little  jardiniere  replete 
with  flowers.  In  a  large  bird  cage  the  cherished  linnet  disported  him- 
self in  the  society  of  three  companions.  Louise  was  singing.  The  door 
stood  open. 

The  count  paused  on  the  threshold  as  if  he  were  dazed  or  fascinated, 
and  looked  at  Louise,  to  whose  beauty,  happiness  seemed  to  have  leant 
an  additional  attraction.  A  feeling  of  remorse  came  over  the  old 
nobleman,  and  his  heart,  which  care  and  ambition  had  hardened, 
seemed  to  soften  once  more.  There  was  a  touch  of  emotion  in  his  voice 
as  he  asked  if  M-  Max  de  Tressang  were  at  horn? 


166  LOVE    OB   WEALTH? 

"  My  husband  is  at  his  office,"  replied  Louise,  who  had  no  notion  who 
this  visitor  might  be. 

"  Then,  madame,  he  must  be  fetched  for  a  very  urgent  matter." 

"  But  his  master  is  very  exacting,  monsieur." 

"  His  master,"  repeated  the  count  with  an  effort,  which  showed  how 
little  he  liked  the  term  as  applied  to  his  son.  "  His  master  will  make 
no  objection.  It  is  necessary  he  should  come  at  once  ;  so  I  must  beg 
you  to  give  me  his  address,  in  order  that  I  may  send  for  him." 

"  It  is  a  long  way  off,  monsieur,  at  La  Villette." 

' '  And  does  he  go  there  every  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"On  foot?" 

"  Why,  yes,  monsieur  ;  "  and  Louise  began  to  laugh. 

The  count  felt  so  embarrassed  that  he  did  not  venture  to  make  any 
rejoinder. 

"It  is  true  that  it's  a  long  way  off,"  resumed  Louise,  "but  my 
husband  says  that  the  exercise  does  him  good,  and  besides,  we  might 
not  find  such  a  convenient  lodging  elsewhere  for  the  same  rental." 

Having  noted  Max's  address  the  count  went  downstairs,  sent  for  a  com- 
missionnaire,  and  gave  him  his  instructions.  Then  he  hastily  returned 
to  the  little  sitting-room,  for  he  wished  to  turn  his  son's  absence  to 
profit. 

"And  you  are  happy,  madame?"  he  asked,  as  he  sat  down  near 
Louise. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  we  are  happy,"  she  simply  replied.  "And  young, 
and  loving  each  other,  and  having  nothing  to  wish  for — " 

"  What  !    Nothing  to  wish  for  ?    Nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  monsieur." 

' '  Not  even  wealth  ?  For  I  believe  that  M.  de  Tressang  was  formerly 
wealthy." 

"  He  no  longer  remembers.  He  only  regrets,  or  I  should  say,  we  only 
regret  one  thing,  that  our  marriage  should  have  grieved  his  father." 

The  count  no  longer  dared  to  speak,  for  he  was  afraid  of  betraying 
himself. 

At  last  Max  arrived.  "  My  son,"  said  his  father,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  "  your  apartment  is  ready  at  home.  I  came  to  fetch  you  and 
your  charming  wife.  You  must  forgive  your  father,  he  did  not  know 
where  to  find  happiness  again." 

******** 

Ten  years  or  more  have  passed  since  then.  Max  and  Louise  are  still 
supremely  happy.  The  count  seems  to  have  grown  younger  with  his 
advancing  years. 

Clodomir,  who  has  become  famous  under  a  name  not  recorded  in  these 
pages,  told  me  this  story  last  summer.  We  were  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loire,  lying  in  the  shade  of  the  old  willows,  which  dip  their  branches 
in  the  stream.  Midway  up  the  slope  behind  us  rose  a  charming  house, 
half  hidden  by  foliage  and  flowers. 

Louise  and  Max  had  realised  their  dream, 


MISSING! 


One  Sunday  afternoon,  not  long  ago,  the  whole  district  of  the  Marais — 
that  busy  quarter  of  Paris  which  now-a-days  is  but  one  vast  workshop 
from  the  Temple  to  the  Rue  Saint  Antoine,  from  the  Bastille  to  the  Rue 
Turbigo — was  in  a  state  of  most  unwonted  excitement.  Bustling  as  it 
may  be  on  week-days,  when  all  the  bronze  factories  re-echo  to  the  sound 
of  toil,  when  the  heavy  vans  roll  over  the  pavement  from  druggist's  to  toy- 
dealer's,  taking  at  each  halt  some  fresh  consignment  for  despatch  by 
rail,  when  work-people  and  customers  crowd  the  thousand  and  one 
establishments  where  every  description  of  "article  de  Paris"  is  pro- 
duced for  a  value  of  many  millions  of  francs  per  annum — on  Sundays,  at 
least,  the  Marais  usually  relapses  into  silence.  Were  it  not  for  the 
multitudinous  inscriptions  which  cover  all  the  houses  from  garret  to 
basement  chronicling  the  names  of  manufacturers,  dealers  and  commis- 
sion agents,  one  might  fancy  oneself  in  the  old  times,  when  the  Marais 
was  inhabited  solely  by  the  rentier  class,  by  worthy  old  couples  retired 
from  business  on  fairly  decent  incomes,  or  by  relics  of  the  ancient 
nobility,  scarcely  wealthy  enough  to  reside  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 
Such,  indeed,  was  the  Marais  fifty  years  ago — a  quiet  and  secluded 
district — and  thus  have  Honors  de  Balzac  and  Paul  de  Kock  described 
it  in  their  novels.  But,  now-a-days,  it  is  a  vast  hive  of  industry,  whence 
peace  and  quiet  are  utterly  banished  during  the  six  days  set  apart  for 
toil.  It  is  only  on  the  Sabbath,  when  workshops  and  store-rooms  are 
closed,  when  the  week-day  toilers  are  making  merry  in  their  native 
Belleville,  or  chinking  glasses  in  the  bosquets  of  Montreuil,  that  it  re- 
gains a  semblance  of  its  old  tranquillity. 

And  yet,  on  the  particular  Sunday  we  have  mentioned,  the  usual 
"Sabbath-hush"  was  wanting.     True  enough,  no  heavily  laden  vans 
were    rolling   through   the   narrow   streets ;    no  din   of   hammers   and 
anvils  came  from  the  closed  ateliers.     The  foot- ways  were  not  bestrewn 
with  packing  cases,  and  no  crowd  of  commissionnaires  and  receivers 
clerks  and  commercial  travellers,  hurried  hither  and  thither  peripateti 
cally  proving  the  truth  of  the  axiom  that  "  Time  is  money."     But  then 
there  were  unusually  animated  groups  of  customers  in  all  the  wine  shops 
unwonted  knots  of  people  at  the  street  corners,  gatherings  of  house> 
wives  in  front  of  the  fruiterers'  stores,  and  conclaves  of  door-keepera 
and  kindred  scandal-mongers  in  every  convenient  alley. 


168  MISSING  ! 

Something  very  extraordinary  must  have  happened,  as  passtrs-by 
correctly  opined.  The  fact  is,  that  one  of  the  most  honourable  manu- 
facturers of  the  Rue  du  Roi  de  Sicile  had  disappeared,  and  all  efforts  to 
find  him  had  so  far  proved  unsuccessful.  The  grocer  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  St.  Louis  possessed  full  information  on  the  subject — information 
obtained  first  hand  from  the  cook  of  the  missing  gentleman — and  his 
shop  was  most  extensively  patronised  that  afternoon,  even  by  people 
who  pretended  that  he  mixed  dust  with  his  pepper,  and  sweetened  his 
jam  with  glucose.  For  once  in  a  way,  they  put  up  with  his  adulterations 
to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  his  conversation.  "  It  was  yesterday  evening," 
repeated  the  worthy  grocer  over  and  over  again,  as  he  assisted  in  weigh- 
ing pounds  of  sugar  and  penn'orths  of  salt,  ' '  yesterday  evening  just 
after  dinner,  our  neighbour  M.  Jandidier  went  down  to  his  cellar  to  get 
up  a  bottle  of  old  wine,  and  since  then  no  one  has  seen  him.  The  cellar 
door  was  found  wide  open,  but  M.  Jandidier  had  disappeared,  vanished, 
evaporated  !  " 

From  time  to  time  it  happens  that  mysterious  disappearances  are 
spoken  of.  Alarm  is  spread  in  various  directions,  and  prudent  people 
invest  money  in  sword  sticks  and  revolvers.  But  as  a  rule  the  police 
shrug  their  shoulders  when  these  occurrences  are  mentioned.  They  are 
acquainted  with  the  "seamy  side"  of  the  cunningly  embroidered 
canvas.  They  start  an  investigation  and  discover  the  truth,  so  different 
to  popular  exaggeration  :  in  lieu  of  a  romance,  they  come  upon  some  sad 
story. 

However,  to  a  certain  extent  the  grocer  of  the  Rue  Saint  Louis  spoke 
the  truth.  It  was  a  fact  that  M.  Jandidier,  who  did  a  most  extensive 
business  as  a  manufacturer  of  imitation  jewellery,  had  altogether  dis- 
appeared since  the  previous  night. 

M.  Theodore  Jandidier  was  some  fifty-eight  years  old.  He  was  very 
tall  and  very  bald,  gifted  with  fairly  good  manners  and  deportment, 
and  according  to  popular  report,  possessed  of  a  very  considerable 
fortune.  This  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  in  Paris  the  trade  in 
imitation  jewellery  is  simply  enormous,  and  some  manufacturers  like  the 
Bourguignons  and  others,  whose  creations  are  exported  all  over  the 
world,  are  simply  millionaires.  One  could  not  say  as  much  concerning 
M.  Jandidier,  but  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  man  of  means.  A  pretty  little 
collection  of  scrip  and  bonds  were  said  to  yield  him  an  income  of  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  and  his  business  brought  him  an  average  annual 
profit  of  another  fifty  thousand.  He  was  esteemed  and  liked  in  the 
neighbourhood,  for  his  probity  was  above  all  question,  and  his  morals 
perfectly  exemplary.  When  five-and-thirty,  he  had  married  a  portionless 
cousin,  who  had  proved  a  happy  and  faithful  wife. 

This  worthy  couple  possessed  an  only  daughter  named  Therese,  who 
was  literally  idolised  by  her  father.  At  one  time  it  had  been  said  that 
she  was  to  marry  M.  Gustave  Schmidt,  the  eldest  son  of  the  senior 
partner  in  the  great  banking  house  of  Schmidt,  Gubenheim,  and  Worb, 
but  somehow  or  other — no  one  knew  why — the  marriage  had  been  broken 
off;  and  this  had  caused  all  the  more  surprise,  as  the  young  folks  were 
apparently  very  much  in  love  with  each  other. 

Some  friends  of  the  Jandidier  family  pretended  that  old  Schmidt,  the 
father,  the  most  avaricious  of  all  our  Parisian  financiers,  and  an  in- 


MISSING  !  169 

veterat*  "fleecer,"  had  required  that  Mademoiselle  Therese  should 
bring  h&r  husband  a  preposterously  large  dowry,  such  as  her  father  could 
not  possibly  furnish  despite  his  comparative  wealth.  However,  this 
was  only  a  rumour  which  nothing  had  so  far  authenticated. 

On  this  Sunday  afternoon,  when  the  news  of  M.  Jandidier's  disappear- 
ance spread  through  the  Marais,  all  the  incidents  of  his  past  life  which 
the  gossips  were  acquainted  with,  were  duly  recorded  and  submitted  to 
public  appreciation.  A  hundred  stories  of  his  honesty  and  good  nature 
were  told.  He  had  been  an  honour  to  the  district,  an  excellent  worthy 
man  in  every  respect.  Given  his  rigid  morals,  it  was  altogether  im- 
possible to  imagine  that  he  had  ' '  gone  off  on  the  loose. "  His  family 
ties  were  too  strong  for  him  to  have  abandond  his  wife  and  daughter. 
No,  he  must  have  fallen  a  victim  to  some  base  scoundrel — he  must 
have  received  a  foul  blow  ;  and  the  honour  of  the  Marais  required  that 
his  remains  should  be  recovered  and  fittingly  interred,  and  that  his 
murderer  should  be  brought  to  justice. 

So  thus,  during  that  Sunday  afternoon,  the  rumours  flew  through  the 
district,  spreading  in  every  ear  and  growing  on  every  tongue,  till,  at 
last,  having  learned  the  reports  from  his  agents,  the  district  commissary 
of  police  considered  it  his  duty  to  repair  to  the  missing  gentleman's 
residence  with  the  view  of  obtaining  precise  information. 

He  was  ushered  into  the  grand  drawing-room  which  was  in  a  state  of 
semi-obscurity,  the  shutters  being  half  closed  and  the  curtains  drawn. 
Both  Madame  Jandidier  and  her  daughter  were  distracted  with  grief, 
and  he  had  considerable  difficulty  in  calming  them  and  inducing  them 
to  answer  his  questions.  However,  he  was  at  length  placed  in  posses- 
sion of  these  particulars. 

On  the  previous  evening  (Saturday)  M.  Jandidier  had  dined  as  usual 
with  his  family.  He  had  made,  however,  but  a  poor  meal,  for  he  was 
troubled  with  a  bad  headache.  After  dinner  he  had  gone  down  stairs — 
not  to  the  wine  cellar  as  the  grocer  of  the  Rue  Saint  Louis  pretended — 
but  to  his  warehouse,  where  a  couple  of  employes  were  still  at  work. 
Having  given  them  some  orders,  he  retired  for  a  short  time  into  his 
private-room,  occupied  himself,  no  doubt,  with  various  business  matters, 
and  then  came  up  stairs  again  and  told  his  wife  that  he  was  going  out 
for  a  stroll.     From  that  stroll  he  had  never  returned. 

The  commissary  of  police  carefully  noted  down  these  particulars,  and 
then  asked  Madame  Jandidier  if  he  could  not  speak  with  her  alone  for 
a  few  minutes.  She  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise  but  finally 
signified  her  assent,  and  Mademoiselle  Therese  discreetly  left  the  room. 

"  You  must  excuse  the  question  I  am  about  to  ask  you,  madame," 
exclaimed  the  commissary,  as  the  young  lady  closed  the  door  behind  her. 
"  But  this  is  a  serious  affair,  and  if  we,  the  officials  of  justice,  are  to 
clear  up  the  mystery,  we  must  know  the  whole  truth.  Excuse  my  indis- 
cretion, I  beg  you,  but  can  you  tell  me  whether  M.  Jandidier,  your 
husband,  ever  had — to  your  knowledge — what  shall  I  say  ?  Well,  any 
passing  fancy,  any  feminine  acquaintance  away  from  home?  " 

Madame  Jandidier  sprang  to  her  feet  as  if  impelled  by  a  spring. 
Anger  had  dried  her  tears,  and  it  was  in  a  snappish  voice  that  she 
answered,  "  I  have  been  married  three-and-twenty  years,  monsieur. 
Never  on  any  one  occasion  has  my  husband  given  cause  for  such  a  sup- 


170  missing! 

position.  If  I  was  not  with  him  of  an  evening,  he  never  returned  homo 
later  than  ten  o'clock." 

"  Well,  madame,  was  your  husband  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  any 
club  ? "  asked  the  commissary.  "  Had  he  any  special  cafe  where  he 
met  his  friends  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  have  allowed  such  habits,"  curtly  replied  the  lady. 

"  Do  you  know  if  he  was  accustomed  to  carry  large  sums  about  his 
person,  madame?" 

"On  that  point  I  can  give  you  no  information.  I  have  always 
attended  to  my  household,  and  not  to  my  husband's  business  affairs." 

The  commissary  found  it  impossible  to  obtain  any  further  information, 
for  the  worthy  dame's  grief  was  now  blended  with  a  strong  admixture  of 
anger  and  resentment.  The  supposition  that  her  husband  might  have  a 
mistress  revolted  her  feelings  as  a  wife,  and  the  barely  veiled  insinua- 
tion that  he  might  frequent  a  club,  and  no  doubt  gamble  there,  incensed 
her  as  an  attack  on  his  recognised  probity  and  integrity.  Hcwever, 
despite  Madame  Jandidier's  stiff  air,  the  commissary  thought  it  only 
right  to  try  and  assuage  her  affliction  by  repeating  a  few  hackneyed 
"  compliments  of  condolence,"  and  then,  with  a  profound  bow,  he  retired. 

Before  leaving  the  house,  however,  he  considered  it  his  duty  to 
question  the  servants,  and  their  statements  which  generally  corroborated 
Madame  Jandidier's,  made  him  feel  somewhat  anxious.  He  began  to 
think  that  a  crime  had  really  been  committed. 

A  few  hours  later  he  sent  his  report  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  and 
the  same  evening  the  case  was  submitted  to  the  consideration  of  the 
Public  Prosecutor.  The  latter,  in  his  turn,  delegated  an  investigating 
magistrate  to  examine  the  affair,  and  on  the  Monday  morning  the  famous 
detective  Retiveau,  better  known  in  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem  by  his  nick- 
name of  "  Maitre  Magloire,"  received  orders  to  scour  Paris,  and  if  needs 
be,  the  provinces,  in  search  of  M.  Jandidier — or  his  corpse.  A  capital 
photograph  of  the  manufacturer,  taken  only  a  short  time  previously, 
was  handed  to  the  detective,  who  at  once  commenced  his  difficult  task. 


II. 

Mattre  Magloire  was  a  man  of  no  little  energy,  and  a  fervent  believer 
in  the  value  of  time.  His  alacrity  was  proverbial,  so  that  the  investigat- 
ing magistrate,  intrusted  with  the  Jandidier  affair,  was  by  no  means 
surprised  when,  on  the  Monday  afternoon,  his  usher  announced  that  the 
detective  wished  to  speak  with  him,  having  already  obtained  some  im- 
portant information. 

The  magistrate  at  once  gave  orders  for  the  police  agent  to  be 
admitted.  "Here  already,  M.  Magloire,"  said  he.  "So  you  have 
fresh  news,  eh  ?  " 

"I  am  on  the  scent,  monsieur." 

"Well,  tell  me  what  you  have  ascertained." 

'  To  begin,  monsieur,  I  have  learned  that  M.  Jandidier  did  not  leave 
home  at  half -past  six  on  Saturday  evening,  but  at  seven  o'clock  pre- 
cisely. " 

"  Precisely  ?" 


MISS13TG  !  171 

"Well,  yes.  My  information  comes  from  a  clock-maker,  in  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood  of  M.  Jandidier's  house.  This  clock-maker 
knew  him  well,  and  noticed  that  he  paused  in  front  of  his  shop.  In 
fact,  M.  Jandidier  pulled  out  his  watch  and  compared  time  with  the 
clock  above  the  door.  The  circumstance  induced  the  clock-maker  to 
look  at  the  time  himself,  and  he  recollects  perfectly  well  that  it  was 
then  exactly  two  minutes  past  seven.  Those  two  minutes  would  have 
amply  sufficed  for  M.  Jandidier  to  walk  from  his  house  as  far  as  this 
shop.  It  is  fortunate  that  he  should  have  paused  to  compare  time,  for 
this  apparently  trivial  circumstance  has  guided  me  to  all  my  subsequent 
discoveries.  For  instance,  the  clock-maker  noticed  that  M.  Jandidier 
was  munching  an  unlighted  cigar.  It  occured  to  me  that  he  must 
ultimately  have  lighted  it,  and  I  asked  myself  where  and  how?  Had 
he  a  box  of  lucifers  in  his  pocket  ?  No  ;  for  I  learned  at  his  house  that  a 
little  silver-plated  box  he  usually  carried  about  with  him,  had  been 
found  on  the  mantel-shelf  in  his  room  since  his  disappearance.  In  this 
case,  I  reasoned,  he  must  probably  have  gone  into  some  tobacconist's 
shop  to  get  a  light." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  opined  the  magistrate. 

"I  had  considerable  difficulty  in  finding  the  shop  in  question,"  re- 
sumed the  detective  ;  "  but  as  the  course  taken  by  M.  Jandidier  from 
his  residence  to  the  clock-maker's  shop  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was 
going  towards  the  boulevards,  I  went  in  that  direction.  To  my  delight, 
just  as  I  reached  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  sure  enough  I  came  upon  a 
tobacconist's  shop.  I  went  in  and  made  inquiries.  The  woman  behind 
the  counter  was  well  acquainted  with  M.  Jandidier,  and  she  recollected 
perfectly  that  he  came  in  on  Saturday  evening  to  get  a  light.  She  was 
all  the  more  certain  on  the  point  for,  at  the  same  time,  he  purchased  a 
packet  of  londres  extra,  which  greatly  surprised  her,  as  he  usually  smoked 
very  cheap  cigars." 

"How  did  he  seem?" 

"The  woman  told  me  that  he  looked  pre-occupied.  I  obtained  from 
her  an  important  piece  of  information,  which  shows  that  Madame 
Jandidier  was  altogether  wrong  when  she  told  the  commissary  of  police 
that  her  husband  did  not  go  to  any  particular  caf  e\  However,  husbands 
don't  always  tell  everything  to  their  wives  ;  and  according  to  the 
tobacconist,  M.  Jandidier  frequently  went  to  the  Cafe1  Turc,  which  is 
hard-by.  I  went  there  and  questioned  the  waiters.  Two  of  them  re- 
membered having  seen  him  on  Saturday  evening.  He  drank  two  small 
glasses  of  brandy  neat,  and  talked  with  some  friends  who  were  there. 
He  seemed  sad.  The  waiter  who  served  at  his  table  told  me  that  he 
and  his  friends  talked  all  the  while  about  life  insurances.  It  was  half- 
past  eight  when  he  went  away,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  friends,  M. 
Blandureau,  a  merchant  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  immediately  went  to 
M.  Blandureau's  warehouse  and  questioned  him.  He  told  me  that  on 
Saturday  evening  he  walked  down  the  boulevards  with  M.  Jandidier, 
as  far  as  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  where  M.  Jandidier  left 
him,  saying  that  he  had  business  to  attend  to.  He  was  not  at  all  in  his 
usual  frame  of  mind,  M.  Blandureau  tells  me ;  he  seemed  out  of  sorts  and 
worried  with  melancholy  presentiments. " 

"  Very  good,  so  far,"  muttered  the  magistrate. 


172  MISSING  ! 

"On  leaving  M.  Blandureau,"  continued  Maitre  Magloire,  "I  re- 
turned to  the  Rue  du  Roi  de  Sicile  to  inquire  of  the  people  of  the  house  if 
M.  Jandidier  had,  to  their  knowledge,  any  customers  or  friends,  might  be 
even  a  mistress,  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu.  I  more  particularly  questioned 
the  man-servant  who  generally  did  his  master's  errands,  but  all  he  could 
tell  me  was  that  M.  Jandidier's  tailor  lived  in  that  street.  I  thought 
it,  after  all,  advisable  to  go  and  see  this  tailor.  '  Yes,'  said  he,  '  M. 
Jandidier  came  to  see  me  on  Saturday.  He  came  to  order  a  pair  of 
trousers.  It  was  past  nine  o'clock.'  It  seems  that  whilst  he  was  being 
measured  a  button  fell  from  his  waistcoat,  and  he  asked  the  tailor  to 
sew  it  on  again.  For  this  to  be  done,  he  took  off  his  coat,  and  at  the 
same  time  removed  a  packet  of  papers  and  a  note-book  from  the  breast- 
pocket. Holding  these  papers  in  his  hand  he  half  sorted  them,  and  the 
tailor  noticed  that  they  comprised  several  bank  notes  ?  " 

"  Ah  !    That's  a  clue.     So  he  had  a  large  sum  on  his  person  ?  " 

"  Large  ?  Well  not  so,  perhaps,  for  a  man  of  his  position  ;  but  still 
a  fair  amount.  The  tailor  thinks  there  must  have  been  twelve  or  four- 
teen hundred  francs  in  notes. " 

"  Continue,"  said  the  investigating  magistrate. 

"  While  the  button  of  his  waistcoat  was  being  sewn  on  again,  M. 
Jandidier  suddenly  left  off  sorting  his  papers  and  complained  of  indis- 
position. The  tailor  had  already  noticed  that  he  looked  far  from  well ; 
and  at  his  customer's  request  he  dispatched  an  apprentice  to  fetch  a 
cab.  M.  Jandidier  said  that  he  had  to  go  as  far  as  the  Halle  aux  Vins 
to  see  one  of  his  work  people  who  lived  hard-by.  Unfortunately  the 
apprentice  could  not  tell  me  the  number  of  the  cab  he  fetched,  but  on 
the  other  hand  he  recollected  that  it  had  yellow  wheels,  and  was  drawn 
by  a  big  black  horse.  The  yellow  wheels  proved  that  the  vehicle  did 
not  come  from  the  stables  of  the  Cab  Company,  but  that  it  belonged  to 
some  petty  job- master.  I  sent  a  circular  note  to  all  the  authorised  cab- 
keepers,  and  a  few  hours  ago  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  learning  that  the 
vehicle  in  question  was  No.  6,007.  The  driver  remembered  that  on 
Saturday  evening  he  was  hailed  by  a  lad  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu,  and 
that  for  ten  minutes  or  so  he  waited  outside  the  shop  of  a  tailor  named 
Gouin.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  be  able  to  recognise  the  gentleman  he 
drove  to  the  Halle  aux  Vins,  and  he  told  me  that  he  thought  he  would. 
Thereupon,  I  showed  him  five  photographs,  and  he  at  once  picked  out 
M.  Jandidier's  portrait.  There  was  a  bright  moonlight  on  Saturday 
evening,  he  said,  and  whilst  the  gentleman  was  counting  out  the  money 
to  pay  his  fare  he  had  a  good  look  at  him." 

Maitre  Magloire  paused  and  noted  with  satisfaction  the  approbative 
expression  on  the  magistrate's  face. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "this  cabby  drove  M.  Jandidier  to  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  Halle  aux  Vins,  to  No.  48,  in  the  Rue  d'Arras-Saint- 
Victor  ;  and  in  this  house  there  lives  a  workman,  whom  M.  Jandidier 
employed,  a  workman  of  the  name  of  Jules  Tarot." 

The  significant  manner  in  which  Maitre  Magloire  articulated  these 
words  "  Jules  Tarot  "  was  well  calculated  to  impress  the  investigating 
magistrate. 

"  Have  you  any  suspicions?"  asked  the  latter,  giving  the  detective  a 
keen  look. 


MISSING  !  173 

"  Not  precisely  ;  but  still  here  are  the  facts.  On  reaching  the  Rue 
d'Arras,  M.  Jandidier  discharged  his  cab.  He  asked  the  doorkeeper  if 
Tarot  was  at  home,  and  on  receiving  an  affirmative  reply  he  went  up- 
stairs. It  was  then  about  ten  o'clock.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  the 
doorkeeper  went  to  bed,  and  he  was  just  falling  asleep  when  he  heard 
Tarot  come  down  stairs.  Tarot  called  to  him  to  pull  the  rope  which 
opens  the  door,  and,  thanks  to  the  night  light,  the  doorkeeper  perceived 
that  the  workman  was  accompanied  by  the  gentleman  who  had  called. 
They  went  out  together ;  and  shortly  after  midnight  Tarot  returned 
home  alone." 

"  And  M.  Jandidier  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  Ah  !  I  have  been  unable  to  trace  him  any  further,"  replied  Maitre 
Magloire. 

"  That  seems  significant ;  suspicious  even." 

"Yes,  monsieur.  I  fancy  it's  a  bad  job.  Of  course  I  could  not 
question  Tarot ;  it  would  have  put  him  on  his  guard." 

"  Have  you  found  out  what  kind  of  man  this  fellow  Tarot  is  ?  " 

"Oh!  On  that  point  I  questioned  the  doorkeeper.  Tarot,  he  told 
me,  is  a  mother-of-pearl  worker.  He  polishes  the  shells,  and  is  most 
skilful  in  imparting  the  proper  nacreous  iridescence.  Altogether,  he 
seems  to  be  a  clever  fellow,  and  he  and  his  wife  together — for  he  has 
taught  her  the  work — earn  at  times  as  much  as  a  hundred  francs  a 
week." 

"  So  they  are  well  off,  for  people  of  their  class." 

' '  Well,  no,  monsieur.  They  are  both  of  them  young,  both  of  them 
Parisians  born  and  bred,  they  have  no  children,  and  so  they  amuse 
themselves.  Not  content  with  Sunday  relaxation  and  pleasure,  they 
habitually  make  Monday  a  fete  day,  after  the  fashion  of  so  many  work- 
people, and  the  result  is,  that  long  before  pay  day  arrives  they  are 
desperately  hard  up." 

"  H'm,"  said  the  magistrate,  stroking  his  chin  with  a  pensive  air. 
"All  this  seems  very  suspicious — very  suspicious  indeed.  So  the  Tarots 
lead  rather  a  loose  life  ?  Their  purse  is  often  empty  ;  and  very  likely 
they  are  in  debt.  Those  twelve  hundred  francs  that  M.  Jandidier  had 
about  him,  no  doubt,  excited  their  covetousness.  He  probably  called 
on  Tarot  to  intrust  him  with  some  work,  and  no  doubt  pulled  out  his 
pocket-book  to  make  a  memorandum.  Tarot  must  have  seen  the  bank 
notes.  And  no  trace,  you  say,  can  be  found  of  M.  Jandidier  after  he 
left  the  house  with  his  workman  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,  no  trace  at  all,"  answered  the  detective.  "I  have 
made  diligent  inquiries  in  all  directions  but  without  result." 

"  Yery  strange,  very  suspicious,"  muttered  the  magistrate  ;  and  then 
in  a  louder  key  he  added:  "I  must  say,  M.  Magloire,  that  you  have 
conducted  this  inquiry  admirably.  Guided  by  M.  Jandidier's  unlighted 
cigar,  you  have  traced  him  to — well,  to  the  man  who  is  probably  his 
murderer.  Yes,  his  murderer,  I  have  very  strong  suspicions  on  the 
point." 

A  brief  pause  ensued,  and  then  the  magistrate  asked  :  "  Was  Tarot  at 
home  when  you  made  these  inquiries  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  monsieur.  He  and  his  wife  had  gone  off.  It's  Monday, 
remember." 


174  MISSING  ! 

"Are  you  certain  that  they  had  merely  gone  off  holiday -making  ?  " 

' '  Why,  yes,  monsieur  ;  the  doorkeeper  said  they  had  left  early  in 
the  morning  with  a  couple  of  friends,  two  of  Tarot's  comrades,  I  believe. 
They  were  going  to  picnic  near  Chaville." 

"  Ah !  That  was  a  splendid  opportunity  to  make  a  perquisition  in 
their  absence,  Maitre  Magloire." 

"  Certainly,  monsieur,  but  I  had  no  search  warrant,  and  besides,  it 
was  only  an  hour  or  so  ago  that  I  went  to  the  Rue  d Arras." 

"  I  suppose  that  doorkeeper  is  to  be  depended  upon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  monsieur.     He's  affiliated  at  the  Prefecture,  No.  920."* 

"  Then  he's  safe.  Did  you  leave  him  any  instructions  as  to  what  he 
ought  to  do,  if  the  Tarots  returned  home  before  you  saw  him  again  ?  " 

' '  I  did  better  than  that,  monsieur,  I  left  a  comrade  at  the  house  to 
wait  and  watch." 

"  Very  good.  Well,  M.  Magloire,  we  must  have  a  perquisition  ;  and 
here  are  a  couple  of  warrants  which  you  can  use  if  occasion  requires. 
Be  here  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

So  saying,  the  magistrate  returned  to  some  documents  he  had  been 
perusing  when  the  detective  arrived.  The  latter  pocketed  the  warrants, 
made  a  deep  bow,  and  hastened  out  of  the  room. 


III. 

It  was  already  six  o'clock,  and  before  repairing  to  the  Rue  d'Arras- 
Saint- Victor  it  was  necessary  that  Maitre  Magloire  should  call  at  the 
office  of  the  district  commissary  of  police,  show  him  his  instructions,  and 
request  him  to  preside  at  the  perquisition.  As  the  commissary  was 
away  at  his  dinner,  some  little  time  was  lost.  ' '  We  must  have  a  lock- 
smith," the  detective  reflected,  "  for  the  Tarots  will  hardly  have  returned, 
and  it  will  be  necessary  to  force  open  the  door. "  A  locksmith  was  ac- 
cordingly procured,  a  couple  of  gardiens  de  la  Paix  were  summoned  to 
serve  as  an  escort,  and  on  the  commissary's  return  the  party  set  off. 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  the  detective  asked  his  companions  to  wait 
a  moment,  and  then  went  ahead.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should 
reconnoitre  the  ground,  and  ascertain  from  the  comrade  whom  he  had 
left  with  the  doorkeeper  if  anything  noteworthy  had  occurred  during  his 
absence. 

As  he  entered  the  house  he  heard  heavy  steps  climbing  the  stairs,  and 
a  man  and  a  woman  singing  a  gay  refrain.  "Have  they  returned?" 
thought  Maitre  Magloire,  and  he  hurried  into  the  doorkeeper's  room. 

His  comrade  was  there,  and  on  perceiving  him  raised  his  fore-finger  to 
his  lips:  "Hush,  they've  just  come  home.  They  are  only  halfway  up 
stairs. " 

"They  are  singing  loud  enough,"  rejoined  Maitre  Magloire  in  an 
undertone.  "  I  must  say  that  they  are  unusually  gay  for — for  mur- 
derers." 

"  Oh  !  "  replied  his  comrade.  "  The  wine  has  got  into  their  heads. 
As  for  their  gaiety  we'll  see  about  that  by-and-bye." 

*  It  should  be  remembered  that  a  very  large  number  of  Parisian  doorkeepers  o* 
toncierges  are  secret  agents  of  the  Prefecture  de  Police. — [Trans.] 


MISSING  !  175 

Despite  this  rejoinder  Magloire  remained   for  a  moment  pensive. 

"Am  I  mistaken?"  he  asked  himself.     "But,  then "     However, 

his  hesitation  was  of  short  duration.  "At  all  events  we  must  clear  up 
the  mystery,"  he  added,  and  leaving  the  house  he  went  in  search  of  the 
commissary. 

Joyful  the  Tarots  had  certainly  seemed  as  they  climbed  the  stairs, 
singing  a  popular  ditty.  They  were  laden  with  field  flowers,  which  the 
wife  tastefully  arranged  in  two  large  blue  vases  as  soon  as  they  had 
entered  their  lodging. 

"Now,  Clementina,"  called  the  husband,  "you  must  make  haste 
with  the  supper,  or  else  the  concert  will  be  over  by  the  time  we  get 
there." 

Both  Tarot  and  his  wife  were  very  partial  to  the  entertainments  given 
at  a  little  cafe  concert  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  it  was  with  the  view  of 
going  there  that  evening,  that  they  had  returned  so  early  from  their 
excursion. 

"Oh  !  I've  only  the  stew  to  warm,  "answered  the  wife;  "but,  Eugene, 
while  I  light  the  fire  would  you  mind  running  down  to  fetch  a  quart  of 
wine?" 

The  husband  took  an  empty  bottle  from  a  corner  in  the  kitchen  and 
went  toward  the  outer  door  of  the  apartment,  but  when  only  halfway 
he  paused  with  surprise. 

Rat-tat-tat,  rat-tat-tat.  Some  very  noisy  visitor  indeed  demanded 
admittance. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  cried  Tarot. 

"  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  law,"  answered  a  stern  voice. 

Husband  and  wife  turned  pale  with  terror. 

"  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  law,"  repeated  the  same  voice. 

Still  Tarot  did  not  budge.     Pear  seemed  to  root  him  to  the  spot. 

There  was  no  further  parleying,  for  at  that  moment  Maitre  Magloire 
perceived  that  the  key  had  been  left  in  the  door  outside.  So  he  just 
turned  it  and  walked  in,  followed  by  his  comrade  and  the  commissary 
of  police. 

On  perceiving  the  latter  functionary,  whose  stomach  was  spanned 
with  his  broad  tricolour  sash  of  office,  Tarot  and  his  wife  were  seized 
with  a  nervous  trembling,  of  which  Maitre  Magloire  took  careful  note. 

"Why  did'nt  you  open  the  door?  "  sternly  asked  the  commissary  of 
police. 

"I  was  so  surprised — monsieur — I  didn't  know — I — "  stammered 
Tarot. 

"Ah,  you  look  as  if  you  had  something  on  your  conscience,"  retorted 
the  functionary,  "  I  suppose  you  know  what  has  brought  us  here  ?  " 

Tarot  gave  the  commissary  an  anxious  look,  and  stammered  an 
incomprehensible  answer. 

"We  have  come  to  make  a  perquisition,"  said  Maitre  Magloire.  "Do 
you  know  that  your  employer,  M.  Jandidier  of  the  Rue  du  Roi  de  Sicile, 
has  disappeared  ?  He  was  last  seen  in  your  company  late  on  Saturday 
night." 

Both  Tarot  and  his  wife  were  too  overwhelmed  to  speak. 

"  Come  give  us  the  keys  of  all  your  drawers  and  cupboards,"  said  the 
commissary ;  and  as  the  wife  timidly  drew  them  from  her  pocket  he 


176  MISSING  ! 

added,  turning  to  the  detective  :   "There  you  are,  Maitre  Magloire,  you 
may  set  about  your  task. " 

The  search  was  a  protracted  and  a  difficult  one,  for  dusk  had  now  set 
in,  and  a  careful  scrutiny  could  scarcely  be  made  by  lamp  light.  How- 
ever, all  the  drawers  were  turned  out,  and  all  the  cupboards  carefully 
explored.  Magloire  ferreted  in  every  nook  and  corner,  ripped  up  the 
mattresses  and  pillows  on  the  bed,  tried  the  stuffing  of  the  chairs,  but 
all  to  no  avail.     Nothing  suspicious  could  be  found. 

"It's  singular,"  muttered  the  detective;  and  he  once  more  asked 
himself,   "  Have  I  been  mistaken  after  all  ?  " 

At  this  moment  it  occurred  to  him  to  look  at  the  Tarots  who  stood 
by,  watching  the  proceedings  in  silence.  Perhaps  their  demea'nour 
might  give  him  a  clue  ;  otherwise  he  and  his  companions  would  have 
no  other  resource  but  to  apologise  and  withdraw.  At  first  he  observed 
nothing  particular,  save  an  expression  of  affright  in  their  looks,  but  as 
he  carefully  followed  the  direction  of  the  wife's  glance,  he  noticed  that 
it  was  fixed  on  a  birdcage  hanging  near  the  window.  "  Eureka  !  "  he 
cried,  "  I  have  it  !  " 

Springing  towards  the  cage  he  unhooked  it,  and  careless  of  the  canary 
roosting  on  the  perch,  he  examined  it  in  every  sense.  As  in  most  cages 
there  was  a  movable  floor  which  drew  out  to  admit  of  proper  cleansing, 
and  sure  enough,  between  the  thin  boards,  Maitre  Magloire  found  a  sum 
of  twelve  hundred  francs  in  bank  notes. 

The  Tarots  exchanged  looks  of  terror.  The  husband  seemed  over- 
whelmed, but  the  wife  broke  out  into  piteous  lamentations,  repeating 
again  and  again  that  she  and  her  husband  were  innocent. 

However,  the  commissary  and  Magloire  paid  little  or  no  attention  to 
her  wailings.  "  You  had  much  better  make  a  clean  breast  of  it," 
exclaimed  the  detective,  "  instead  of  kicking  up  that  row."  Whereupon 
both  husband  and  wife  answered  in  piteous  tones  :  ' '  Oh  !  we  are  inno- 
cent, sir,  we  are  innocent  ! " 

This  time  the  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  In  the  name  of  the 
law,  I  arrest  you,"  said  he.  "I  charge  you  with  the  murder  of  M. 
Jandidier."  And  he  called  to  the  two  gardiens  de  la  Paix,  waiting 
below,  to  come  upstairs. 

The  Tarots  showed  no  signs  of  resistance,  but  as  they  were  charged 
with  a  capital  offence,  the  commissary  thought  it  prudent  to  have  them 
hand-cuffed.  They  passively  allowed  themselves  to  be  removed  to  a 
cab  which  was  sent  for,  and  half  an  hour  later  they  crossed  the  thres- 
hold of  the  D6p6t,  and  were  duly  locked  into  separate  cells. 

Magloire  was  fairly  elated,  and,  forgetful  of  discipline,  hurried  off  to 
the  private  residence  of  the  investigating  magistrate,  to  acquaint  him 
with  the  capture  and  the  recovery  of  M.  Jandidier's  money.  The 
magistrate  was  pleased  to  express  his  approval,  and  renewed  the 
appointment  for  the  following  morning  at  his  office  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice. 

The  Tarots  were  interrogated  separately.  They  both  looked  pale  and 
careworn  when  they  entered  the  magistrate's  office,  but,  after  passing 
the  night  under  lock  and  key  in  a  prison  cell,  this  was  only  natural. 
However,  they  had  both  found  their  tongues  again,  and  apparently  they 
had  preconcerted  a  system  of  defence,  for  their  answers  were  identical. 


missing!  177 

They  admitted  that  M.  Jandidier  had  called  on  them  on  the  Saturday 
evening.  He  seemed  very  poorly,  and  they  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
like  to  take  a  drop  of  something,  but  he  refused  the  offer. 

"  What  was  the  object  of  his  visit  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  He  wished  us  to  execute  an  important  order,  and  proposed  that  we 
should  take  workpeople  on  our  own  account." 

"  That's  singular.     Had  he  not  numerous  workmen  of  his  own  ? " 

"Yes,  but  he  said  that  his  health  was  failing  him,  that  he  could  no 
longer  give  his  usual  attention  to  business,  and  should  prefer  to  transfer 
the  order  to  us. " 

"  And  what  was  your  answer  ?  " 

"We  told  him  that  we  lacked  the  capital  to  execute  it." 

«  Ah  !— ah  !    And  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  replied,  '  Oh,  that's  of  no  consequence.  I'll  advance  you 
enough  money  ; '  and  he  pulled  out  his  pocket-book,  and  laid  twelve 
hundred  francs  in  bank  notes  on  the  table. " 

"  Had  he  so  much  confidence  as  that  in  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  knew  we  worked  fairly  well." 

"  Yes,  but  you  have  dissipated  habits.  You  spend  your  money  faster 
than  you  earn  it.  Your  story  is  altogether  improbable.  M.  Jandidier 
must  have  known  how  prodigal  you  both  were.  Well,  did  you  at  least 
give  him  a  receipt  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Who  signed  it  ?  " 

"We  both  did." 

"  H'm,  and  what  then?  " 

"After  that,"  answered  Tarot,  "  M.  Jandidier  asked  me  to  see  him 
further  on.  He  said  he  was  going  in  the  direction  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine. " 

"And  where  did  you  leave  him  ?  " 

"At  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.  We  crossed  the  Constantine  foot  bridge 
and  followed  the  canal." 

"Ah!  you  followed  the  canal?"  exclaimed  the  magistrate,  eye- 
ing Tarot  attentively.  ' '  And  you  reached  the  Place  de  la  Bastille 
safely  ?  " 

"  Certainly  we  did,  monsieur,"  answered  the  workman,  with  a  flushed 
face. 

Naturally  enough,  the  magistrate  asked  both  the  husband  and  the  wife 
to  explain  why  they  had  hidden  the  money  in  the  birdcage,  and  they 
each  gave  the  same  answer.  On  the  Sunday  night,  as  they  were  going 
home,  Tarot  met  a  comrade  who,  while  he  was  playing  cards  in  a  wine- 
shop in  the  Marais  during  the  afternoon,  had  heard  of  M.  Jandidier's 
disappearance.  The  news  greatly  frightened  them,  and  Tarot  said  to 
his  wife,  "If  it  were  known  that  he  came  here  on  Saturday  night,  it 
would  be  a  bad  job  for  us.  Didn't  we  cross  the  bridge  together,  and 
walk  along  the  banks  of  the  canal  ?  The  police  would  certainly  suspect 
me,  and  if  those  twelve  hundred  francs  were  found  in  our  possession,  we 
should  be  altogether  lost." 

"  We  didn't  sleep  all  Sunday  night,"  said  Tarot's  wife  ;  "  we  lay 
awake  thinking  about  M.  Jandidier.  And  we  certainly  shouldn't  have 
gone  out  on  the  Monday,  if  one  of  my  husband's  cousins  hadn't  come  to 


178  MISSING  ! 

fetch  us  according  to  arrangement.  However,  in  the  country  we  almost 
forgot  about  the  matter,  and  as  the  detective  says,  we  were  no  doubt  gay 
when  we  came  home.  Before  going  out,  I  wanted  to  burn  the  bank 
notes,  but  Tarot  wouldn't  let  me.  He  meant  to  refund  the  money  to  M. 
Jandidier's  family,  he  said  ;  and  besides,  as  he  explained,  we  might 
have  put  ourselves  in  a  bad  position  by  destroying  the  notes,  for,  even  if 
M.  Jandidier  were  dead,  his  body  might  be  found  with  our  receipt  in 
his  pocket,  and  then  we  should  have  to  refund  the  money ;  and  how 
could  we  do  so  if  the  notes  were  destroyed  ?  " 

The  magistrate  listened  attentively  to  this  explanation,  which  was 
plausible  if  not  probable,  and  the  prisoners'  line  of  defence  struck  him 
as  a  very  artful  one.  "  How  did  you  know,"  he  asked  at  length,  "  how 
did  you  know  that  M.  Jandidier's  body  had  not  been  found  when  the 
police  searched  your  place?  It  might  have  been  recovered,  and  the 
detectives  might  have  had  your  receipt  with  them.  It  was  your  duty 
to  produce  that  money  at  once.     Why  didn't  you  do  so  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  know  what  to  do  or  what  to  think,  monsieur  ;  we  were 
too  frightened." 

"  Innocent  persons  have  no  reason  to  feel  frightened,"  sententiously 
retorted  the  magistrate.  "Justice  knows  how  to  distinguish  between 
the  innocent  and  the  guilty." 

He  said  this,  and  yet,  at  that  very  moment,  he  was  asking  himself  in 
sore  perplexity,  "  Are  these  people  culpable  or  not  ?  *  After  all,  there 
was  nothing  to  corroborate  the  explanation  of  the  Tarots,  and  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  to  content  himself  with  their  mere  word.  A 
further  search  must  be  made  for  M.  Jandidier.  Perhaps  his  body  might 
be  found,  and  then  it  would  be  possible  to  form  a  positive  opinion.  In 
the  meanwhile,  the  workman  and  his  wife  must  be  retained  in  custody. 


IV- 

A  week  elapsed,  and  the  magistrate  was  still  in  the  same  perplexity. 
The  Tarots  had  each  been  re-examined  three  times,  but  nothing  fresh 
had  been  elicited  from  them,  and  their  later  statements  failed  to  con- 
tradict their  earlier  version.  Were  they  innocent,  then  ?  Or  had  they 
merely  cleverly  preconcerted  a  plausible  system  of  defence  ? 

M.  Jandidier's  remains  had  been  searched  for  far  and  wide.  The 
Seine  and  the  canal  had  been  dragged.  The  missing  manufacturer's 
photograph  had  been  sent  all  over  France,  but  utterly  without  result. 
In  this  situation,  the  magistrate  asked  himself  what  course  he  ought  to 
pursue.  If  he  sent  the  prisoners  to  the  assizes  they  would  very  likely 
be  acquitted  for  want  of  sufficient  proofs,  especially  if  they  were  de- 
fended by  a  skilful  advocate.  No  doubt  there  was  the  circumstance  of 
those  twelve  hundred  francs  found  in  their  possession  ;  but  would  that 
suffice  to  ensure  a  conviction  ?  The  prisoners  explained  their  possession 
of  this  money  in  a  most  artful  fashion,  and,  besides,  the  true  corpus  delicti 
was  wanting.     What  should  the  magistrate  do  then  ? 

He  was  asking  himself  this  question  for  the  hundredth  time,  when  a 
strange,  almost  incredible  report  reached  his  ears.  The  well  known 
firm  of  Jandidier  ain6  had  suspended  payment,  and   was  going  into 


MISSING  !  179 

bankruptcy  !     "  Who  would  have  expected  that !  "  grumbled  the  magis- 
trate.    "Well,  perhaps,  we  are  coming  to  the  truth." 

On  the  morrow  a  detective  who  had  been  duly  instructed,  brought 
him  a  full  report  of  circumstances  which  none  of  M.  Jandidier's  family 
had  ever  dreamed  of.  The  revelation  was  an  astounding  one,  and  had 
caused  immense  surprise  throughout  the  district  of  the  Marais  where 
M.  Jandidier  had  been  so  respected  and  esteemed.  In  fact,  the  man 
whom  the  denizens  of  the  Rue  du  Roi  de  Sicile  so  delighted  to  honour, 
the  idol  of  the  trade  in  imitation  jewellery,  had  fallen  from  his  pedestal 
with  a  crash.  People  had  imagined  he  was  wealthy,  and  yet  in  reality 
he  was  ruined — utterly  ruined  :  and  during  the  last  three  years  he  had 
only  kept  up  his  credit  by  means  of  expedients.  Less  than  a  thousand 
francs  had  been  found  in  his  safe,  and  on  the  Saturday  after  his  dis- 
appearance, bills  for  sixty-seven  thousand  five  hundred  francs  were 
presented  for  payment  by  the  Bank  of  France.  Yes,  Jandidier,  the  man 
of  severe  morality,  gambled  at  the  Bourse  ;  the  virtuous  husband  kept  a 
mistress  ! 

The  magistrate  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears,  and  was  giving  vent  to 
his  astonishment  when  Maitre  Magloire  appeared,  quite  out  of  breath. 

"  You  know  the  news,  monsieur  ?  "  asked  the  detective  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold. 

"  Yes,  I  have  just  been  told  everything." 

"  The  Tarots  are  innocent !  " 

"I  think  so — and  yet  that  visit  Jandidier  paid  them — how  do  you 
explain  that  visit  ?  " 

The  detective  sighed.  "Ah,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  was  a  fool,  aa 
my  colleague,  Monsieur  Lecoq,  has  just  shown  me.  You  will  recollect 
that  at  the  Cafe1  Turc,  Jandidier  and  his  friends  talked  all  the  time 
about  life  assurances  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember  ;  but  what  connection — " 

"  Ah  !  monsieur,  that  was  the  point  I  ought  to  have  kept  in  mind  ! 
Jandidier's  life  was  assured  for  200,000  francs." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  and  as  you  are  aware,  monsieur,  in  France  assurance  companies 
don't  pay  when  the  holder  of  a  policy  commits  suicide.  Now,  Jandidier 
was  no  doubt  anxious  to  provide  for  his  family  ;  and  so  he  made  it 
appear  as  if  he  had  been  murdered,  in  hopes  that  the  companies  would 
pay  his  wife." 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  destroyed  himself  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say,  monsieur,  At  all  events  we  cannot  find  his  remains. 
May  be  he  has  simply  taken  himself  off.  And  yet  I  don't  know  ;  he  can 
only  have  had  very  little  money  with  him,  and  at  his  age  a  man  scarcely 
has  the  courage  to  begin  life  over  again.  At  all  events,  he  certainly 
laid  a  trap  for  poor  Tarot,  and  would  have  sent  him  to  the  guillotine  for 
the  sake  of  his  policies  being  paid." 

"  What  a  scamp  !  "  growled  the  magistrate  ;  and  he  took  up  his  pen 
to  sign  an  order  for  the  release  of  the  workman  and  his  wife. 

#****#*♦ 

Thanks  to  M.  Gustave  Schmidt — of  the  great  house  of  Schmidt, 
Gubenheim,  and  Worb— the  firm  of  Jandidier  did  not  go  into  bank- 
ruptcy.   Old  Schmidt  had  just  died,  most  opportunely,  and  M.  Gustave 


180  MISSING  ! 

was  able  to  dispose  of  the  paternal  inheritance  as  he  pleased,  and  more 
than  that,  he  means  to  dispose  of  himself  as  well,  for  the  papers  announce 
that  he  and  Mademoiselle  Therese  Jandidier  are  to  be  married  next 
month. 

Tarot  and  his  wife  have  set  up  in  business,  thanks  to  the  twelve 
hundred  francs  returned  to  them  at  M.  Gustave's  request ;  and,  mindful 
of  the  investigating  magistrate's  reproaches  anent  their  "prodigality" 
and  "  dissipated  habits,"  they  have  quite  given  up  "  merry-making"  on 
Mondays. 

But  what  has  become  of  M.  Jandidier  ?  Is  he  dead,  or  has  he  gone  to 
America  ?  If  any  of  our  readers  are  acquainted  with  his  whereabouts, 
they  may  communicate  with  the  authorities,  who  offer  a  thousand  francs 
reward  1 


THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE. 


Is  it  slander,  or  is  it  the  truth?  At  all  events,  for  years  and  years  the 
most  dreadful  stories  have  been  told  concerning  our  Parisian  landlords, 
and  it  is  certainly  high  time  to  try  and  say  something  in  their  favour. 

What  is  the  great  charge  brought  against  them  ?  Are  they  not 
mainly  accused  of  perpetually  and  unjustifiably  raising  their  rents? 
And  yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  are  some  landlords  who  refrain 
from  this  detestable  practice  ;  and  we,  at  least,  know  one  of  them,  who 
positively  exists  in  flesh  and  bones,  and  whose  address  we  might  easily 
furnish. 

He  is  called  the  Viscount  de  B ,  and  he  is  young,  amiable,  and 

witty.  He  was  peacefully  living  on  his  income  of  thirty  thousand  francs 
a  year,  when  some  six  months  ago  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  one  of 
his  uncles,  a  most  hard-fisted  miser,  and  the  good  fortune  to  inherit  his 
property,  valued  at  a  couple  of  million  francs. 

On  glancing  over  his  uncle's  papers,  the  Viscount  de  B ascer- 
tained that  his  inheritance  comprised  a  house  situated  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Victoire,  in  the  heart  of  the  fashionable  quarter  of  the  Chaussee 
dAntin.  He  ascertained  also,  that  his  defunct  relative  had  purchased 
this  house  in  the  year  1849,  for  the  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  that  its  rental  brought  in  a  clear  profit  of  eighty-two  thousand  francs 
a  year. 

"  That  is  really  too  much,"  thought  the  viscount,  who  is  a  most 
generous  minded  young  man  :  "  Why,  it  makes  more  than  twenty- 
seven  per  cent,  per  annum  ;  and  who  ever  heard  of  house  property 
yielding  as  much  as  that?  My  uncle  was  really  too  avaricious.  His 
conduct  was  worthy  of  an  usurer.  I  cannot  countenance  such 
practices.  They  would  dishonour  the  great  name  I  bear.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  will  lower  the  rents,  and  all  my  tenants  will  bless  me. " 

Having  come  to  this  decision,  the  viscount  sent  for  the  doorkeeper  of 
the  house  in  question.  In  Paris,  it  should  be  remembered,  all  the  houses 
are  provided  with  doorkeepers,  whose  duties  are  not  merely  confined  to 
playing  the  part  of  a  Cerberus.  They  are  charged  with  keeping  the 
hall  and  the  staircases  spick  and  span.  They  received  the  correspond 
ence  of  the  tenants  residing  on  the  various  flats,  and  habitually  read 
their  postcards  and  such  newspapers  as  they  may  be  partial  to,  before 
taking  them  upstairs,     Snappish  and  exacting  on  quarter  days  when,  in 


182  THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE. 

the  landlord's  name,  they  apply  for  payment  of  the  different  rentals, 
they  become  all  milk  and  honey  towards  the  approach  of  the  new  year, 
in  view  of  obtaining  the .  usual  seasonable  gratuity.  In  many  matters, 
they  are  omnipotent.  In  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  the  tenant 
never  sees  his  landlord.  It  is*  the  doorkeeper  who  lets  out  the  flats,  who 
receives  the  rent,  and  who  gives  warning  if  you  are  unfortunate  enough  to 
displease  him.  It  is  indeed  essential  for  the  Parisian  that  he  should  be  on 
good  terms  with  his  doorkeeper,  for,  otherwise,  his  letters  go  astray  ;  his 
friends  are  habitually  told  that  he  is  not  at  home  ;  his  tradesmen  are 
warned  to  allow  him  no  credit;  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  is  taught 
to  regard  him  with  distrust  and  contempt.  For  the  house  hunter,  also, 
it  is  a  sine  qua  non  that  he  should  first  of  all  please  the  doorkeeper  he 
has  to  deal  with.  You  perceive  a  board  announcing  unfurnished  apart- 
ments to  let ;  you  enter  the  house  and  respectfully  ask  the  Cerberus  to 
give  you  the  necessary  particulars.  He  eyes  you  from  head  to  foot,  and 
if  your  looks  are  not  to  his  liking,  he  drives  you  away  by  asking  double 
the  rent  which  the  landlord  would  be  satisfied  to  take.  Even,  if  your 
person  inspires  him  with  no  distrust,  he  shows  himself  terribly  exacting. 
It  is  often  by  the  landlord's  instructions  that  he  warns  you  that  cats, 
dogs,  and  children  are  not  suffered  in  the  house,  but  on  his  own  account, 
he  will  frequently  add  that  every  one  must  be  indoors  by  eleven  o'clock, 
and  that  pianos  and  evening  parties  which  occasion  so  much  racket,  will 
not  be  tolerated.  And  yet  his  own  daughter  plays  the  piano  in  the  loge, 
and  a  party  of  choice  spirits  gather  round  his  own  fireside  two  or  three 
times  a  week. 

Monsieur  Bernard,  who  filled  the  functions  of  doorkeeper  at  the 
viscount's  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire,  was  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  the  majority  of  his  colleagues.  He  had  held  his  appointment  for 
bo  many  years  that  he  began  to  look  upon  the  house  as  his  own  pro- 
perty, and  would  constantly  assail  the  petty  tenants  who  lived  on  the 
topmost  floor  with  such  phrases  as,  "Be  careful  not  to  dirty  my  stairs," 
or  "  You  make  a  dreadful  noise  overhead.  I  won't  allow  such  dis- 
turbance in  my  house."  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  true  that  he  wa3 
always  obsequiously  polite  to  the  banker  who  lived  on  the  first  floor, 
and  that  he  treated  the  baroness  on  the  second  fiat  with  gracious 
amiability. 

On  one  point  at  least,  Monsieur  Bernard  would  never  compromise 
with  his  principles.  He  who  possessed  a  pet  cat  and  a  daughter  yet 
in  her  teens,  was  utterly  opposed  to  his  tenants  being  burdened  with 
children  or  animals.  One  day  when  there  was  a  vacant  apartment  to 
let  in  his  house,  a  newly  married  couple  asked  to  see  it,  and  found  it  so 
much  to  their  taste  that  they  were  anxious  to  have  a  lease.  There  was 
apparently  no  reason  why  M.  Bernard  should  refuse  them,  for  they  had 
no  dogs,  and  no  children,  and  were  habitually  in  bed  by  ten  o'clock  at 
eight.     And,  yet,  the  worthy  doorkeeper  was  not  satisfied. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  married  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Six  months,"  was  the  reply. 

' '  Do  you  think  of  having  any  children  ?  " 

The  husband  laughed,  and  the  young  wife  flushed  scarlet. 

"  You  see,"  judiciously  observed  M.  Bernard.  "  You  are  not  to  be 
depended  on.     If  a  lease  were  signed,  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  give  yor 


THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE.  183 

notice  to  quit  whenever  I  chose.  So,  I  think  it  would  be  safer  for  you 
to  come  in  as  quarterly  tenants  ;  and  mind,  if  madame  does  happen  to 
have  a  baby,  you  will  have  to  leave." 

The  first  blow  that  the  worthy  doorkeeper  had  received,  for  many  a 

long  year,  was  the  death  of  the  Viscount  de  B 's  uncle,  the  miserly 

old  landlord,  who  extorted  such  fabulous  rentals  out  of  his  unfortunate 
tenants.  Bernard  was  so  accustomed  to  his  quarters  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Victoire,  and  so  habituated  to  regard  himself  as  the  ruler,  if  not  as  the 
real  owner  of  the  house,  that  he  asked  himself  with  no  little  dread,  ' '  I 
wonder  what  thi3  viscount  is  like  ?  "    He  trembled  at  the  idea  that  M. 

de  B might  possibly  dispense  with  his  services;  and  for  once  in  a 

way,  was  pleased  to  treat  the  usually  despised  tenants  with  singular 
deference  and  politeness.  He  had  read  Lafontaine's  fables,  be  it  noted, 
and  remembered  the  story  of  the  lion  and  the  mouse. 

On  receiving  his  new  master's  summons,  Bernard  realised  that  the 
decisive  moment  was  at  hand.  Everything  depended  on  this  interview ; 
either  he  would  be  dismissed  or  else  confirmed  in  his  viceregal  func- 
tions. Hence  he  approached  the  viscount  with  a  profound  reverence, 
and  respectfully  awaited  his  decision.     "  You  are  the  doorkeeper  of  the 

house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire,  I  believe,"  said  M.  de  B .     "  My 

uncle,  I  am  told,  was  satisfied  with  your  services,  and  I  trust  that  you 
will  attend  to  my  interests  with  equal  care." 

"Oh  !  monsieur  le  vicomte  may  rest  assured — " 

"Very  good,  very  good.  I  confirm  you  in  your  post;  but  I  have 
something  else  to  tell  you.  You  must  immediately  inform  all  the 
tenants  on  my  behalf,  that  I  intend  to  lower  their  rents.  In  future,  the 
rentals  shall  be  fixed  at  two  thirds  of  what  they  now  amount  to." 

Those  incredible,  fantastic  words,  "lower  the  rents," fell  like  so  many 
brick-bats  on  Bernard's  head  ;  and,  for  a  moment,  he  remained  stupe- 
fied. Surely  he  must  be  mistaken,  surely  he  had  misunderstood  his 
master ;  and  so,  partially  regaining  his  self-possession,  he  stammered  : 
"  Lower  the  rents  ?  monsieur  the  viscount  must  be  joking.  Lower 
them  ?  monsieur  must  have  meant  increase  them." 

"  No,  my  good  man,  I  never  spoke  more  seriously  in  my  life.  I  said 
and  I  repeat — '  lower  them.'" 

This  time  the  doorkeeper  was  so  surprised,  so  utterly  astonished,  that 
he  quite  forgot  his  subordinate  position,  and  exclaimed,  "Monsieur 
the  viscount  can't  have  reflected.  He  will  regret  his  decision  before 
the  day's  over.  Lower  the  rents  !  Why,  nobody  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing  or  ever  will !  What  will  people  think  of  monsieur  the  viscount 
if  this  becomes  known  ?  What  will  be  said  in  the  neighbourhood  ?  For 
it  is  clear — " 

"Monsieur  Bernard,"  interrupted  the  viscount,  "I  don't  like  my 
servants  to  murmur  when  I  give  an  order.  You  have  heard  my  decision. 
Very  good,  you  may  retire  ;  and,  above  everything,  don't  let  me  hear  any 
more  observations." 

The  worthy  doorkeeper  staggered  like  a  drunken  man  as  he  left  the 
viscount's  mansion  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire. 
His  brain  was  fairly  whirling,  and  he  wondered  whether  he  were  awake 
or  asleep.  Surely  he  must  be  dreaming — surely  a  fit  of  nightmare  must 
have  given  him  these  fantastic  ideas. 


184  TUAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE. 

"  Lower  the  rents,"  he  muttered  as  he  stumbled  along.  "  Lower  the 
rents  !  It's  incredible.  Perhaps,  if  the  tenants  complained — but 
they  don't  complain  !  On  the  contrary,  their  money  is  always  ready 
every  quarter  day.  Dear  me,  dear  me.  If  the  viscount's  uncle,  the 
worthy  man,  only  hears  of  this  in  his  tomb,  how  savage  he  will  feel. 
Surely  his  nephew  is  going  mad  !  Lower  the  rents  !  Why,  that  young 
man  ought  to  be  provided  with  a  guardian.  He'll  certainly  come  to  a 
bad  end.  I  can't  explain  it — either  he's  a  lunatic  or  else  he  drank  too 
much  wine  at  lunch." 


II. 

Worthy  Bernard  was  so  pale  when  he  reached  home — so  pale  and  so 
crushed,  that  as  soon  as  his  wife  and  his  daughter,  Amanda,  perceived 
him  they  asked  in  one  breath,  "What  has  happened  to  you  ?  What  is 
the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  gasped  with  a  sigh.     "  Nothing — absolutely  nothing." 

But  Madame  Bernard  was  not  so  easily  deceived.  Her  rubicund 
cheeks  and  nose  turned  fairly  blue  with  apprehension,  and  her  bosom 
heaved  and  sank  like  the  stormy  sea.  She  was  a  stout  person,  stout 
and  short,  scarcely  gifted  with  any  neck  at  all ;  and  when  persons  of 
this  description  are  visited  with  any  violent  emotion,  an  unpleasant  fit 
of  apoplexy  is  apt  to  result.  Fortunately,  Mademoiselle  Amanda  wap- 
there  to  succour  her.  The  young  damsel  had  nothing  to  fear  for  her 
self  for  she  was  tall  and  slim,  like  her  father,  and  her  neck  was  well' 
nigh  as  extended  as  a  crane's.  She  forced  her  mother  to  sit  down,  and 
compelled  her  to  imbibe  a  drop  of  something  in  hopes  of  dispelling  her 
emotion. 

But  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  Madame  Bernard  came  round 
again,  and  had  strength  enough  to  speak,  "Ah!  Bernard,"  she 
moaned.  "How  cruel  of  you  to  put  me  to  this  torture.  You  are 
hiding  something?  Come,  speak,  I  will  be  strong.  Terrible  as  the 
news  may  be,  anything  would  be  better  than  this  suspense.  Come, 
what  did  the  new  landlord  say  to  you  ?  Does  he  think  of  dismissing 
us?" 

"  Oh  !  If  it  were  only  that !  But  listen.  As  surely  as  I'm  standing 
here,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Bernard,  I  heard  him  with  my  own  ears — I 
heard  him  say  with  his  own  lips — I  heard  him— but  you  would  never 
believe  me  !  " 

"  Speak,  speak  !  "  gasped  Madame  Bernard,  agonising  with  suspense. 

"  So  you  are  determined  ?  Then,  let  it  be  so.  Well,  he  ordered  me 
to  inform  all  the  tenants  that  he  meant  to  lower  their  rents — yes,  lower 
their  rents.     You  are  listening,  eh  ?     Lower  their  rents  !  " 

While  he  spoke  Madame  Bernard  had  fairly  gone  off  into  hysterics, 
and  Mademoiselle  Amanda  was  so  convulsed  with  laughter  that  she  was 
quite  unable  to  attend  her  mother. 

"  Oh  !  you  dreadful  man  !  "  cried  the  latter  as  she  recovered  herself. 
"  What  a  dreadful  joke  !  Lower  the  rents — ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  Oh,  my 
poor  head,  my  poor  head.  You  might  have  killed  me,  Bernard.  What 
a  dreadful  joke  !  " 


THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE.  185 

In  the  meanwnile,  Mademoiselle  Amanda  hastened  to  her  piano.  Like 
very  many  doorkeepers'  daughters  this  young  person  was  a  pupil  of  the 
Conservatoire  de  Musique,  and  familiar  with  the  productions  of  the 
great  composers.  So,  elongating  her  crane's  neck,  and  distending  her 
mouth,  whilst  her  fingers  darted  here  and  there  over  the  ivory  notes, 
she  began  to  warble  Verdi's  celebrated  air  : 

"  Etrange  aventure, 
Bizarre  imposture, 
Jamais,  je  lejure, 
On  ne  te  croira, 
Noils  fais  tu  I'injure  I "  .  ,  . 

However,  M.  Bernard  claimed  to  be  the  master  at  home,  and  his  angry 
voice  soon  put  a  stop  to  his  daughter's  merriment.  The  worthy  man 
was  altogether  enraged  to  find  that  his  wife  and  Amanda  treated  the 
dreadful  calamity  which  had  befallen  them  as  a  joke,  and  he  roundly 
upbraided  them  for  their  unseemly  conduct. 

"Unseemly  conduct !  "  retorted  Madame  Bernard,  warming  up  in  her 
turn.  "  And  to  think  that  you  nearly  killed  me  with  fright — you  good 
for  nothing  man  !  Unseemly  conduct,  why,  your's  is  unseemly  enough. 
The  idea  !  To  come  home  with  such  a  cock-and-bull  story  indeed.  I'll 
be  bound  you've  been  drinking,  for  you  smell  terribly  of  spirits.  As  if 
the  landlord  was  such  a  fool  as  to  lower  the  rents  !  You  must  have 
taken  that  order  at  some  wine  shop. " 

If  Mademoiselle  Amanda  had  not  intervened,  it  is  probable  that  the 
worthy  couple  would  have  come  to  blows.  As  it  was,  they  exchanged 
some  very  angry  and  very  nasty  words  to  the  astonishment  of  several 
tenants  who  passed  in  and  out  of  the  house.  Bernard  repeated  the 
viscount's  order  again  and  again,  but  his  wife  obstinately  refused  to  be- 
lieve him.  At  length,  in  her  determination  to  prove  that  he  was  a  liar, 
she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  hastened  to  the  viscount's  residence 
with  all  the  speed  that  her  short  fat  limbs  and  portly  form  permitted. 

Ah  1  she  was  cruelly  mortified  to  find  that  Bernard  had  spoken  the 
truth.  With  her  own  ears  she  heard  the  incredible,  fatal  order  re- 
peated.    However,  as  she  was  a  prudent  woman  she  asked  the  viscount 

to  be  kind  enough  to  give  her  the  order  in  writing,  and  M.  de  B , 

much  amused,  was  pleased  to  humour  her  fancy. 

Madame  Bernard  was  almost  as  astounded  as  her  husband  had  been, 
and  asked  herself,  whether  it  would  be  right  to  obey  such  fantastic 
instructions.  The  worthy  couple  and  their  daughter  deliberated  on  the 
point  during  the  whole  evening  ;  and  it  was  only  with  great  reluctance, 
that  they  decided  to  act  upon  the  viscount's  orders.  At  one  moment 
Madame  Bernard  suggested  that  it  would,  perhaps,  be  best  to  warn  the 
young  man's  relatives,  who  might  have  influence  enough  to  prevent  the 
consummation  of  such  folly  ;  but  her  husband  pointed  out  that  after  all 
M.  de  B was  the  master,  and  that  even  if  his  relatives  were  per- 
suaded to  interfere,  some  time  must  elapse  without  result,  and  that  in 
the  interval  they,  Bernard,  wife,  and  daughter,  might  be  ordered  off  the 
premises.     This  last  eventuality  was  of  all  things  to  be  avoided. 

"  After  all,"  remarked  Mademoiselle  Amanda,  with  youthful  thought- 
lessness, "  it's  no  affair  of  our's." 


186  THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE. 

But  this  reflection,  which  a  philosopher  might  have  been  pleased  with, 
was  scarcely  calculated  to  console  her  parents.  Had  they  not  lived  in 
that  house  so  many  years  ?  Had  they  not,  over  and  over  again, 
jubilantly  received  the  old  landlord's  orders  to  "  raise  "  the  rents  ;  and 
now  must  they  announce  that  they  were  to  be  lowered?  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  they  themselves  were  about  to  lose  the  sums  which  the 
tenants  would  no  longer  have  to  pay — and  after  all,  this  was  not  so  very 
surprising,  for  after  such  a  long  term  of  vice-royalty,  they  had  almost 
begun  to  regard  the  house  as  their  own.  It  was  with  a  deep,  deep  sigh, 
that  M.  Bernard  turned  off  the  gas  that  night ;  and  although  he  certainly 
went  to  bed — more  from  habit  than  from  choice — I  fear  that  his  slumber 
was  uneasy  and  of  short  duration. 


III. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  unfortunate  doorkeeper  donned  his  best 
black  coat  and  went  up  stairs.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  com- 
municate the  great  news  to  the  three-and-twenty  tenants  of  the  house. 
Ten  minutes  later  the  whole  building  was  in  an  uproar.  People  who 
had  lived  for  four  years  on  the  same  floor,  without  even  exchanging  a 
"good  morning"  or  a  "good  night,"  or  even  a  simple  bow,  met  and 
instantly  engaged  in  conversation. 

"  You  know  the  news,  monsieur." 

"  It's  very  extraordinary." 

"  Say  incredible." 

"  The  landlord  has  lowered  my  rent." 

"  Taken  a  third  of  it  off,  eh  ?    He's  done  just  the  same  with  mine." 

"  It's  wonderful." 

"  There  must  be  a  mistake." 

Despite  the  statements  of  M.  Bernard  and  his  wife,  despite  the 
written  order,  there  were  several  tenants  who  equalled  St.  Thomas  in 
their  reluctance  to  believe.  Three  of  them  thought  fit  to  write  and 
inform  the  landlord  of  what  was  happening,  and  charitably  warn  him 
that  the  doorkeeper  was  in  a  fit  state  to  be  removed  to  a  lunatic  asylum. 

It  was  necessary  that  the  viscount  should  answer  these  sceptical 
tenants,  and  he  did  so,  fully  confirming  Bernard's  statements. 

Doubt  was  no  longer  possible,  the  rents  were  really  to  be  lowered. 
Such  an  unusual  event  was  bound  to  occasion  unlimited  surprise  and 
comment. 

"  Why  does  the  landlord  lower  the  rents  ?  " 

"Yes,  why?" 

"What  motive  can  have  caused  such  singular  conduct?  For,  certainly, 
he  must  have  had  some  very  serious  motive.  An  intelligent  man  in  the 
enjoyment  of  his  senses  doesn't  deprive  himself  of  a  large  portion  of  hi3 
income  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  receiving  less  money.  Such  conduct 
must  be  occasioned  by  some  very  powerful  reason.  A  man  only  acts 
like  this  under  compulsion,  but  who,  or  rather  what  can  have  compelled 

the  Viscount  de  B to  behave  in  this  fashion  ?    It's  very  strange, 

unaccountably  strange.  There  must  be  some  mystery  we  know  nothing 
about." 


THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE.  187 

Such  was  the  chorus  through  the  house — "There's  some  mystery. 
What  can  it  be  ?  " 

From  the  first  floor  to  the  garrets  under  the  roof,  all  the  tenants  in- 
dulged in  unlimited  conjectures.  They  racked  their  brains  in  trying  to 
imagine  what  wasthe  motive  of  the  landlord's  decision.  The  banker, 
who  spent  his  life  amassing  money  by  fair  means  or  foul,  was  astounded 
that  the  viscount  should  relinquish  part  of  his  income.  The  baroness 
on  the  second  floor,  who  had  once  had  a  chateau  of  her  own,  opined  that 
she  would  not  have  acted  in  this  foolish  manner.  The  fashionable  corn- 
cutter,  who  lived  a  storey  higher  up,  was  so  perplexed  and  so  absorbed 
in  trying  to  guess  the  enigma,  that  in  his  absent-mindedness  he  almost 
sliced  a  customer's  toes  off.  To  say  the  truth,  all  the  tenants  looked 
pre-occupied.  To  see  them,  you  might  have  imagined  they  were  trying 
to  guess  some  unanswerable  riddle. 

After  the  questions  came  the  suppositions.  This  mystery  made  people 
feel  nervous.  Some  said  :  ' '  No  doubt  the  landlord  formerly  committed 
some  dreadful  crime  which  has  remained  unpunished.  Remorse  has  in- 
spired him  with  ideas  of  philanthropy. " 

"  Well,  it's  by  no  means  pleasant  to  live  in  a  house  belonging  to  such 
a  scoundrel ;  for — after  all — it's  all  very  well  to  show  repentance — but 
in  that  line  of  business,  people  often  have  a  second  try. " 

"  Is  the  house  really  solid  ?  "  asked  another  tenant. 

"  Hum — well,  only  so-so,  no  doubt." 

"But  it  isn't  very  old." 

"  That's  true  ;  but  it  had  to  be  propped  up  when  they  were  digging 
the  new  sewer  in  March,  last  year." 

Some  imagined  that  the  danger  came  from  the  roof.  Others  declared 
they  had  strong  reasons  to  believe  that  a  gang  of  coiners  plied  their 
calling  in  the  cellars,  and  pretended  that  at  night  time  they  had 
even  heard  the  heavy  thud  of  machinery.  Others,  again,  opined  that 
there  might  be  some  Russian  or  Prussian  spies  on  the  premises.  One 
gentleman,  who  had  a  great  reputation  for  acumen,  was  inclined  to  fancy 
that  the  landlord  thought  of  stealthily  setting  the  house  on  fire,  with 
the  view  of  obtaining  a  large  sum  from  the  insurance  companies,  which, 
as  everyone  is  aware,  are  always  delighted  to  pay  the  amounts  specified 
in  their  policies. 

And,  moreover,  there  were  rumours  of  some  extraordinary,  frightful 
things.  It  was  asserted  that  strange,  inexplicable  noises  were  heard  in 
some  of  the  garrets  on  the  sixth  floor,  and  that  phantoms  might  be  seen 
at  midnight  dragging  clanking  chains  down  the  staircases.  It  is  true 
that  this  report  came  from  an  elderly  lady  who  was  troubled  with  a  bad 
digestion,  and  who,  no  doubt,  frequently  had  bad  dreams,  not  to  say 
nightmares.  Still,  it  caused  a  profound  impression  on  all  the  women  in 
the  house,  and  especially  on  all  the  servant  girls.  One  of  the  latter, 
who  had  gone  down  to  the  cellar  one  evening,  with  the  view  of  stealing 
some  bottles  of  her  mistress's  wine  for  the  benefit  of  her  ' '  follower  " — 
a  private  of  dragoons — vowed  that  she  had  encountered  the  ghost  of  the 
old  landlord.  She  had  recognised  him  perfectly ;  and,  indeed,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  the  ghost's  identity,  for  it  carried  a  receipt  for  rent 
in  one  hand,  and  a  notice  to  quit  in  the  other.  The  girl  was  picked  up 
in  the  cellar  in  an  almost  insensible  state.     Four  broken  wine  bottles 


188  THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE. 

lay  near  her,  and  she  declared  she  had  dropped  them  in  her  fright. 
They  were  all  empty,  but  as  they  were  broken  this  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at.  It  is  true  that  in  the  consternation  which  followed  no  one 
thought  of  remarking  that  two  of  these  bottles  were  uncorked,  otherwise 
some  people  might  have  decided  that  the  damsel  was  given  to  tippling', 
and  looked  after  her  own  interests  as  well  as  her  gallant's.  Of  course 
her  explanation  was  that  the  wine  was  intended  for  her  mistress's  lunch 
on  the  morrow.  But  M.  Bernard  was  acquainted  with  the  dragoon 
guard,  and  guessed  part  if  not  all  of  the  truth. 


IV 

Uneasiness  had  followed  surprise,  and  uneasiness  was  succeeded  by 
terror.  The  banker,  mindful  of  his  cashbox  which  he  no  longer  con- 
sidered safe,  gave  notice  that  he  meant  to  move.  M.  Bernard,  as  in 
duty  bound,  hastened  to  inform  the  landlord  of  the  principal  tenant's 
intention. 

"  Well,  let  the  fool  go,"  exclaimed  the  viscount,  somewhat  surprised 
that  his  generosity  should  cause  such  a  result. 

But  it  was  not  merely  the  banker  who  determined  to  leave.  The 
baroness's  fortune  was  no  doubt  safe  with  her  notary,  but  she  had  her- 
self to  think  of,  and  for  fear  of  accidents  she  decided  to  move  as  well. 
On  the  morrow,  it  was  the  fashionable  corncutter's  turn.  He  declared 
that  his  customers  were  driven  away  by  the  bad  reputation  of  the  house. 
The  truth  is,  that  his  vanity  induced  him  to  take  this  decision.  He 
wished  to  put  himself  on  a  par  with  the  man  of  money,  and  the  lady  of 
title,  and  so  when  some  acquaintances  asked  if  it  were  really  true  that 
he  meant  to  change  his  quarters,  he  assumed  his  most  self-sufficient  air, 
and  answered,  "  Yes,  I  mean  to  move.  The  banker,  the  baroness  and 
I,  we  can't  possibly  live  any  longer  in  such  a  house.  Our  reputations 
would  suffer." 

With  such  ideas,  he  would  no  doubt  have  been  better  pleased,  had  the 
exodus  been  confined  to  himself,  and  the  tenants  of  the  first  and  second 
floors,  the  better  to  mark  the  difference  that  separated  a  man  of  his 
standing  from  the  other  folks  in  the  house.  But  then,  the  other  folks 
bravely  followed  the  example  set  them  by  their  superiors  ;  and  by  the 
end  of  the  week  they  had  all  signified  their  intention  of  moving. 

The  horrible  stories  of  ghosts,  and  clanking  chains,  the  rumoured 
presence  of  spies  and  coiners,  the  reported  lack  of  solidity  of  the  house, 
the  fear  of  a  possible  conflagration  ignited  by  a  criminal  hand,  all  pro- 
duced their  effect.  Everyone  feared  a  catastrophe  of  some  kind  or 
another,  according  to  the  character  of  his  apprehensions.  For  instance, 
the  old  women  and  the  servant  girls  dreaded  that  the  ghosts  might  ap- 
pear at  their  bedside  at  night  time,  chain  them  up  and  carry  them  off  to 
Hades.  Others  opined  that  the  spies  and  .coiners  might  have  terrible 
designs.  All  agreed  that  it  would  be  dreadful  to  be  burned  alive  in  bed, 
and  those  who  had  been  told  that  the  house  lacked  solidity,  nightly 
dreaded  that  in  that  case  the  whole  six  floors  might  give  away  without 
a  moment's  notice,  to  the  effectual  destruction  of  life  and  property. 

With  all  these  horrible  reports,  with  all  these  pleasant  "  prospects  ' 


THAT  UNFORTUNATE  HOUSE.  189 

in  view,  no  wonder  that  the  tenants,  and  even  the  least  timorous  among 
them,  found  it  difficult  to  sleep.  The  occupants  of  the  fourth  and  fifth 
floors  positively  organised  patrols  which  scoured  the  house  at  night 
time,  with  instructions  to  warn  all  the  inmates  of  any  danger  by  means 
of  a  huge  gong,  which  one  of  the  party  carried. 

The  servants  were  altogether  terrified,  and  declared  that  they  could 
not  possibly  remain  any  longer  in  such  a  dreadful  house.  However, 
their  employers  succeeded  in  retaining  their  services  by  considerately 
tripling  their  wages. 

As  for  worthy  M.  Bernard,  never  a  stout  man,  he  was  now  reduced 
to  a  skeleton,  and  utterly  worn  out  with  fever  and  fear.  His  better 
half  had  lost  both  her  rubicund  cheeks  and  her  appetite.  Her  nose  had 
faded  from  a  bright  purple  to  a  pale  pink,  and  there  was  next  to  nothing 
left  of  those  buxom  charms  which  had  once  been  her  pride,  and  her 
husband's  delight.  There  was  scarcely  any  fear  of  the  worthy  dame 
dying  of  apoplexy  now.  On  her  side  Mademoiselle  Amanda  had  lost  all 
her  spirits,  and  her  piano  remained  untouched. 

"No,  it  is  not  natural,  not  natural,"  repeated  the  unhappy  door- 
keeper after  each  fresh  intimation  that  some  tenant  meant  to  move. 

In  the  meanwhile,  over  the  street  door  dangled  numerous  boards 
announcing  "  apartments  to  let,"  and  house  hunters,  as  yet  ignorant  of 
the  truth,  called  and  questioned  the  doorkeeper. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "I  have  several  vacant  apartments.  In  fact,  to  say 
the  truth,  you  may  make  your  choice,  for  the  whole  house  is  to  let  from 
top  to  bottom.  All  the  present  tenants  are  going  away.  In  a  single 
week  they  all  made  up  their  minds  to  move.  Nothing  is  known  for  cer- 
tain, but  it  seems  that  there  are  things,  strange  things — in  fact,  it's  a 
mystery,  a  mystery  such  as  no  one  ever  heard  of  before.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  the  landlord  has  lowered  the  rents  !  " 

Ah  !  on  hearing  that,  the  house  hunters  did  not  wait  to  ask  Bernard 
to  show  them  the  apartments.  They  did  not  even  take  the  time  to 
thank  him  for  his  information,  but  they  fled — fled  in  terror,  without 
pausing  to  draw  breath  till  they  were  out  of  the  house  and  well-nigh  out 
of  the  street. 

Quarter  day  came,  and  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire  was  blocked  up  with 
a  procession  of  huge  vans,  all  bearing  the  well  known  name  of  Bailly, 
with  the  mention,  ' '  Furniture  removed  to  town  or  country."  They  had 
come  in  search  of  the  goods  and  chattels  of  the  three  and  twenty  tenants. 
The  courtyard  of  the  house  and  the  footway,  for  a  hundred  yards  in 
either  direction,  were  bestrewed  with  household  objects,  far  into  the 
afternoon,  but,  finally,  the  last  load  was  packed  into  the  last  van,  and 
the  last  tenant  went  away.  There  was  nobody  left — nobody  but  the 
unfortunate  doorkeeper  and  his  family.  Even  the  rats  and  mice,  find- 
ing nothing  more  to  eat,  thought  it  best  to  start  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery in  search  of  a  new  home. 

Poor  Mr.  Bernard  grew  green  with  terror.  He  was  haunted  with 
frightful  visions  at  night  time.  He  fancied  he  could  hear  horrible 
groans  and  shrieks.  When  the  wind  moaned  through  the  desolate 
rooms,  his  hair  started  on  his  head  with  such  force,  that  his  night  cap 
was  almost  propelled  off  his  head.  As  for  his  wife,  she  no  longer  closed 
}ier  eye?. 


190  THAT    UNFORTUNATE   HOUSE. 

Mademoiselle  Amanda,  despite  her  predilection  for  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession, despite  her  talents  on  the  piano,  despite  the  encouragement  she 
had  received  from  her  professors  at  the  Conservatoire,  sacrificed  all  her 
hopes  and  ambition  for  the  mere  sake  of  leaving  the  paternal  fireside. 
She  had  dreamed  of  the  glories  of  the  stage,  of  gorgeous  theatrical  cos- 
tumes, of  lime  light  streaming  upon  her  person,  of  applause  and 
bouquets  and  calls  before  the  curtain.  But  a  term  of  probation  was  yet 
necessary,  and  rather  than  wait,  rather  than  remain  in  that  terrible 
house  with  its  groaning  ghosts  and  their  clanking  chains,  she  renounced 
the  "  profession  "  and  all  its  works,  and  married  a  young  barber  whom 
she  altogether  disliked. 

At  last,  one  morning — after  another  sleepless  night,  more  terrible  if 
possible  than  the  previous  ones — Bernard  took  a  great  resolution.  He 
dragged  himself  to  the  viscount's  residence,  handed  in  his  resignation, 
and  found  himself  another  home. 

******  * 

* 

And,  now,  if  you  be  in  Paris,  and  pass  along  the  B,ue  de  la  Victoire, 
you  will  perceive  an  empty,  desolate,  abandoned  house.  It's  story  is 
the  one  I  have  just  related.  Dust  and  dirt  begrime  the  closed  shutters. 
Grass  grows  in  the  silent  courtyard.  House  hunters  never  apply  there; 
and  the  building  enjoys  such  a  dreadful  reputation  in  the  vicinity,  that 
neighbouring  property  has  considerably  lost  in  value. 

Landlords,  mark  my  words,  this  is  what  comes  of  lowering  your 
rental 


THE  SEMINARY. 


i. 

I  was  anxious  to  enter  the  church,  but  my  father  was  only  a  poor 
farmer  tilling  land  which  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  bad  harvests  had 
so  reduced  his  circumstances  that  there  seemed  little  chance  of  my 
hopes  being  realised.  Fortunately  the  venerable,  kind-hearted  priest  of 
our  village — our  village  of  Larochepatour,  overlooking  the  Loire, 
where  I  had  been  born  and  bred — had  long  taken  an  interest  in  me.  To 
him  I  owed  almost  everything  I  knew,  and  my  progress  seemed  to 
afford  him  infinite  pleasure.  But,  if  I  were  to  be  ordained,  it  was 
necessary  I  should  enter  the  Seminary  and  undergo  a  long  course  of 
study  and  training  ;  and  would  the  Superior  admit  me,  for  with  my 
father's  scanty  means  he  could  only  afford  to  pay  a  very  modest  fee. 
However,  our  priest  did  not  abandon  me  ;  his  teachings  had  first  in- 
spired me  with  a  desire  to  devote  my  life  to  religious  labour  ;  and  so  in 
this  emergency  he  told  my  father  that  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
Father  Superior,  and  that  he  would  write  him  a  letter  which  in  all  pro- 
bability would  suffice  to  ensure  my  admission. 

It  was  arranged  that  my  father  and  myself  should  journey  to  the 
town  with  this  precious  letter  of  recommendation,  and  explain  our 
situation  to  the  Superior,  who  would  no  doubt  consent  to  receive  me 
for  a  reduced  amount.  Eager  as  I  was  to  enter  the  priesthood  I  was 
after  all  a  mere  lad,  and  at  the  thought  of  leaving  home  for  the  first 
time  I  could  scarcely  remain  indifferent.  And  then  I  was  a  son,  and 
fondly  loved  my  mother.  Our  parting  was  bitter  indeed  on  the  morning 
appointed  for  the  journey  ;  but  at  last  I  tore  myself  away,  and  followed 
my  father  down  the  road.  As  we  approached  the  town,  change  of 
scene  and  anxiety  as  to  the  result  of  our  application  diverted  my 
thoughts  from  memory  of  home.  I  looked  to  the  future,  and  prayed 
for  success. 

For  five  minutes  or  so  we  had  skirted  a  high  gloomy  wall,  fringed 
above  with  broken  glass — such  a  wall  as  might  have  begirded  some 
prison  enclosure — when  at  last  we  came  to  a  little  door,  surmounted  by 
a  cross  of  black  wood,  secured  in  the  stone  work.  A  narrow  aperture, 
trebly  barred  with  iron  and  closed  on  the  inner  side,  was  cut  in  the  cen- 
tral panel. 

My  father  halted — "  I  fancy  it  must  be  here,  my  lad,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  I'm  certain  of  it,"  I  answered.  "I  passed  by  last  year  with 
our  priest,  and  he  showed  me  this  door  as  well  as  the  great  entrance, 
Which  is  scarcely  ever  used,  at  the  end  of  the  wall." 


192  THE    SEMINARY. 

"All  right  then,"  added  my  father  with  a  sigh.  "Well,  boy,  are 
you  still  decided  ?  You'd  never  be  one  too  many  at  home,  you  know. 
There'd  always  be  a  place  for  you  at  table,  and  by  the  tire  ;  and  if  you've 
reflected  on  the  road,  if  you  felt  your  heart  give  way  at  the  thought  of 
leaving  us,  your  mother  and  me,  why  speak  out ;  there's  nought  to  be 
ashamed  of.  And  we'd  go  back  home,  as  we  came  here,  together.  By 
my  faith,  I  shouldn't  be  the  one  to  complain." 

My  father's  feelings  were  plain  enough,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
ought  to  show  more  resolution.     "  My  mind  is  made  up,"  I  answered. 

My  father  heaved  another  sigh,  and  then  slowly  and  as  if  regretfully 
raised  the  knocker  of  the  door.  We  heard  a  bolt  being  drawn  back, 
and  the  next  minute  the  shutter  of  the  little  aperture  moved  aside  and 
a  pale  face,  and  a  pair  of  nervous  eyes  appeared  against  the  bars.  The 
eyes  scanned  us  attentively,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  necessary  for  us 
to  state  our  business  before  proceeding  any  further.  I  was  mistaken. 
The  door  was  set  ajar — just  sufficiently  for  us  to  glide  in  sideways — and 
was  then  swiftly,  noiselessly  closed  again.  Had  it  been  opened  wider 
or  for  a  longer  time,  the  doorkeeper  would  no  doubt  have  feared  the 
ingress  of  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  the  outer  world. 

As  I  crossed  the  threshold,  and  looked  at  the  doorkeeper,  I  felt  ill 
at  ease.  He  was  a  short  fat  little  man  with  a  clean  shaven  face,  wear- 
ing a  dark  coloured  coat  of  clerical  cut,  which  corresponded  admirably 
with  his  physiognomy.  He  had  a  look  of  idiotic  satisfaction.  His 
straight  hair  of  a  dirty  yellow  tinge  fully  harmonized  with  his  com- 
plexion. A  beatified  smile  lingered  on  his  thick  lips,  which  seemed 
perpetually  on  the  point  of  mumbling  an  oremus.  His  pendant  flabby 
cheeks  would  have  called  from  a  peasant  the  remark  :  "  That's  bad  fat, 
and  no  mistake. "  As  for  his  eyes,  they  seemed  bedimmed,  but  at  times 
they  glanced  askance  with  a  feline  gleam.  This  devout  looking  per- 
sonage carried  a  prayer-book  in  one  hand,  and  a  chaplet  of  beads  hung 
half  out  of  his  waiscoat  pocket. 

Despite  his  servile  air  of  devotion,  and  his  grotesquely  humble  aspect, 
this  doorkeeper  thought  fit  to  assume  a  self-sufficient  tone  in  speaking 
to  us.  Although  1  was  but  a  child,  I  explained  this  by  the  difference 
of  our  attire  ;  and  I  was  right.  His  clerical  coat  was  luxurious  in  com- 
parison with  our  country-made  jackets.  He  examined  us  for  a  good 
minute  or  more,  and  then  being  apparently  satisfied,  asked,  "  What  do 
you  desire  ? " 

' '  I  have  a  letter  for  the  Reverend  Father  Superior  of  the  little 
Seminary,"  replied  my  father.  "It  is  sent  him  by  the  priest  of  our 
village." 

"  Give  it  me,"  rejoined  the  doorkeeper. 

My  father  placed  his  hat  on  the  ground,  and  with  both  hands  began 
to  fumble  in  his  pockets.  At  last  he  drew  forth  the  precious  missive — 
that  recommendation  which  seemed  worth  a  fortune,  and  what  a 
fortune — my  admission  into  the  little  seminary,  gratis. 

The  doorkeeper  took  the  letter,  and  without  a  word,  handed  it  to 
another  man,  who  seemed  an  exact  counterpart  of  himself.  The  latter 
at  once  glided  noiselessly  away. 

My  father  was  standing  erect  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  He  apparently 
felt  humbled  by  the  doorkeeper's  important  mem,  as  well  as  by  the 


THE    SEMINABY. 


193 


austere  aspect  of  the  apartment.  He  had  not  dared  to  pick  up  his  hat 
again. 

For  myself,  I  had  at  least  sufficient  courage  to  glance  at  the  surround- 
ings. We  were  in  a  most  mournful-looking  room.  A  wainscoting  of 
common  wood,  painted  in  imitation  of  polished  oak,  ran  round  the  walls, 
which,  above,  were  tinted  grey.  The  angular  and  scanty  furniture — 
symmetrically  disposed — evinced  signs  of  frequent  polishing.  Every- 
thing was  remarkably  clean  as  is  usual  in  ecclesiastical  abodes.  On 
crossing  the  threshold,  the  eye  instinctively  turned  towards  a  huge 
crucifix,  a  most  lamentable  production,  bedaubed  with  fantastic  hues, 
and  modelled  in  all  defiance  of  perspective  and  anatomy.  It  was  purely 
and  simply  an  outrage  upon  the  majesty  of  Providence,  an  insult  to 
Christian  art,  and  was  evidently  the  work  of  some  ignorant  artisan  of 
the  neighbourhood.  On  a  scroll  above  the  cross,  I  read  the  Saviour's 
words  in  Latin:  "  Sinite  parvuloa  ad  me  venire" — "Suffer  the  little 
children  to  come  unto  me. " 

Several  other  inscriptions  decorated  the  walls,  but  they  were  all  in 
French,  and  remarkably  appropriate  for  the  spot:  "  The  time  given  to 
the  world,  is  lost  for  Heaven."  "The  wise  man's  lips  only  open  to 
praise  the  Lord."  "God  is  omnipotent;  He  sees,  He  hears  everything." 
Beneath  this  last  maxim  I  noticed  an  aperture,  which  served  as  the  re- 
ceptacle for  an  acoustical  horn,  so  that  if  the  Lord  heard  everything 
that  was  said  in  the  parloir,  his  ministers  must  certainly  have  heard  it 
as  well. 


n. 

This  aperture  served  as  a  mute  but  eloquent  lesson  of  prudence,  and  ?, 
was  still  meditating  it,  when  the  servant  who  had  taken  our  letter,  re- 
turned and  signed  to  us  to  follow  him. 

He  preceded  us  down  a  long  passage,  the  walls  of  which  were  covered 
with  maps.  There  was  but  little  light,  for  the  windows — few  and  far 
between — were  of  dull  glass.  The  atmosphere  was  impregnated  with  a 
stale  smell  of  wax  and  incense.  The  same  oppressive  silence  prevailed. 
The  noise  of  our  own  footsteps  so  startled  us,  that,  after  the  first  few 
paces,  we  continued  our  road  on  tip-toe. 

At  last,  we  reached  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  and  our  guide  ushered  us 
into  an  ante-room,  which  appeared  to  me  magnificent.  A  handsome 
carved  bookcase  of  colossal  dimensions,  stood  on  one  side  ;  thick  cur- 
tains of  dark  coloured  velvet  garnished  the  windows ;  and  such  a 
sumptuous  carpet  was  spread  over  the  floor,  that  I  asked  myself,  if  I 
had  not  better  divest  myself  of  my  heavy  hob-nailed  shoes,  which  might 
perhaps,  damage  the  fresh  tinted  flowers. 

Before  retiring,  the  servant  pointed  out  two  chairs,  but  we  did  not 
dare  sit  down.  At  the  sight  of  all  this  magnificence,  my  desire  to  enter 
the  Church  became  yet  more  ardent.  Worldly  covetousness  was 
blended  with  religious  fervour.  What,  the  simple  Father  Superior  of  a 
petty  Seminary  possessed  such  a  luxurious  abode  ?  Then,  what  must 
be  the  palaces  of  the  princes  of  religion  —  our  lords,  the  bishops,  the 
archbishops  and  cardinals  ! 

G 


194  THE    SEMINARY. 

The  noise  of  a  conversation  being  carried  on  in  an  adjoining  room 
— which  I  guessed  must  be  the  Superior's  study — roused  me  from  my 
reverie.  A  simple  velvet  hanging,  similar  to  the  curtains,  separated  us 
from  the  sanctuary,  and  everything  that  was  said,  plainly  reached  my 
ears.  I  could  distinguish  two  voices — a  woman's  and  a  man's — the 
latter  so  sweet,  so  harmonious,  so  persuasive  that  it  must  have  gone 
straight  to  the  listener's  soul.  Thus  talked,  no  doubt,  the  Fathers  of 
the  Church,  the  elect  inspired  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  whose  eloquent 
words  thawed  the  icy  covering  of  the  unbeliever's  heart,  those  holy 
apostles  whose  discourses  subjugated  nations.  And  this  voice  I  now 
heard,  was  surely  the  Superior's.  I  almost  wept  with  emotion.  I 
longed  to  gaze  upon  this  priest  who  was  about  to  become  my  spiritual 
father ;  I  prayed  for  the  moment  when  I  might  throw  myself  at  his  feet. 

Still  I  listened.  The  Superior  was  saying,  "  By  bringing  your  son  to 
our  holy  house,  madame  the  countess,  you  assure  his  happiness,  his 
salvation. " 

"I  know  it,  monsieur,"  answered  the  lady,  "  it  was  that  idea  which 
sustained  me  in  the  struggle.  What  a  struggle  it  has  been.  For  a  year 
or  more,  peace  has  been  banished  from  our  household.  Three  months 
ago  the  count,  my  husband,  still  refused  my  request  that  our  son  should 
enter  the  seminary.  He  intended — so  he  said — to  send  him  to 
college. " 

The  Father  Superior  heaved  a  sigh.  "  To  college  1 "  he  repeated, 
"  to  college  !  Ah  I  The  count  cannot  know  what  establishments 
colleges  are.  They  are  controlled  by  the  state  you  may  say,  and  the 
state  has  sworn  to  protect  religion  !  But  how  willfully  it  breaks  its 
engagements.  The  pupils  of  the  government  colleges  become  atheists. 
They  are  taught  to  deny  the  justice  of  God,  to  disregard  the  justice  of 
man.  Those  colleges  are  true  schools  of  perdition,  nests  of  immorality, 
where  the  masters  openly  teach  the  most  perfidious  liberalism." 

"Alas!  I  knew  it,"  interrupted  the  countess.  "  Reverend  Father 
Catulle  was  careful  to  warn  me." 

"  He  did  his  duty,  madame.  Ah  !  what  would  become  of  religion 
and  the  good  cause,  if  those  who  are  interested  in  their  defence,  armed 
their  children  against  them  ?  " 

"  May  I  dare  to  tell  you — "  rejoined  the  countess,  "my  husband  pre- 
tends that  the  course  of  study  is  less  advanced  at  the  seminary  than  at 
college. " 

"  Prejudice,  madame  the  countess,  prejudice.  A  perverse  invention, 
slander  devised  by  the  enemies  of  religion  !  But,  even  supposing  it  were 
true,  what  need  is  there  of  vain  science,  of  useless  studies  ?  " 

"  My  husband  also  feared  that  our  son,  influenced  by  holy  examples, 
might  one  day  think  of  renouncing  the  world.  Certainly,  such  a  result 
would  fill  my  heart  with  joy.  But,  then,  he  is  our  eldest,  the  heir  to 
the  title,  and,  duly  authorized  by  Father  Catulle,  I  ventured  to  promise 
my  husband  that " 

"Fear  nothing,  madame,  we  will  keep  your  promise.  We  know  how 
to  prepare  our  children  for  the  career  that  awaits  them  on  leaving  the 
seminary.  Besides,  the  Lord  needs  servants  everywhere,  as  much  in 
society  as  before  the  altar,  and  perhaps  a  day  will  come  when  all,  com- 
bining their  efforts — " 


■fflE    SEMINARV.  195 

At  this  point  the  Superior  lowered  his  voice,  and  only  a  confused 
whisper  reached  me,  with  now  and  then  perhaps  a  distinct  word,  which 
conveyed,  however,  no  idea  to  my  mind,  ignorant  as  I  then  was,  of  the 
world  and  of  history. 

At  last,  however,  I  heard  a  noise  of  moving  chairs,  and  realised  that 
the  interview  was  drawing  to  a  close. 

"Before  leaving,  monsieur,"  exclaimed  the  countess,  "there  is  one 
essential  point  I  must  mention  ;  for  my  husband  is  inflexible.  Your 
pupils,  I  believe,  never  leave  the  seminary,  except  during  the  summer 
vacation. " 

"Yes,  madame,  that  is  our  rule." 

"And  yet  the  count  specifies  that  his  son  must  spend  every  Sunday 
at  home." 

At  first,  the  Superior  made  no  rejoinder.  No  doubt,  he  was  reflect- 
ing. "  Our  rule  is  certainly  a  fixed  one,"  he  at  length  replied.  "  But 
it  is  not  immutable.  Such  a  favour  as  you  ask  for  is  conferred  on  a  few 
families,  and  your  efforts  certainly  deserve  reward.  So  you  have  my 
word — your  son  may  go  home  as  often  as  you  like." 

"  Then  I  see  no  further  obstacle,  monsieur.  God  has  blessed  my  en- 
terprise. I  will  bring  you  my  son  on  Monday.  And  now,  about  the 
terms  ?  " 

"  Oh,  madame,  that  is  of  no  account.  To  say  the  truth,  the  matter  is 
not  of  my  province." 

"  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  but  as  I  am  altogether  unaware — " 

"  Oh,  madame,  my  ignorance  on  that  subject  is  equal  to  yours  !  I 
have  so  little  time  to  myself.  However,  you  may  speak  with  our 
worthy  treasurer,  if  you  please.  Allow  me  to  conduct  you  to  his 
room." 

Immediately  afterwards,  the  velvet  hanging  was  raised,  and  an  ex- 
tremely beautiful  woman,  superbly  clad,  passed  into  the  ante-room 
where  we  were  waiting.  Behind  her  appeared  the  Father  Superior 
raising  the  costly  drapery. 

I  had  never  seen  such  a  dignified,  noble-looking  priest.  He  was  of 
tall  stature,  and  wore  the  ecclesiastical  costume  with  consummate 
grace.  His  face  was  handsome,  and  of  a  most  prepossessing  expression. 
His  deep  black  hair  contrasted  forcibly  with  his  white  brow,  and  the 
ivory  tint  of  his  cheeks.  His  blue  eyes,  bedimmed  by  long  lashes,  had 
an  expression  of  evangelical  benevolence :  they  were  no  doubt  the 
mirror  of  a  spotless  soul. 

He  acquainted  the  countess  with  all  the  advantages  of  the  Seminary 
— its  southern  aspect,  the  arrangements  of  the  class  rooms,  the  cleanli- 
ness of  the  dormitories,  the  extent  of  the  playgrounds,  the  excellence  of 
the  meals,  and  as  I  listened,  with  downcast  eyes,  my  mouth  watered 
despite  myself.  Finally,  the  Superior  opened  the  window,  and  showed 
the  countess  the  magnificent  umbrageous  trees  which  shaded  the  play- 
ground, and  the  garden  where  the  professors  read  their  breviaries  of  an 
afternoon. 

Before  leaving  the  ante-room,  he  made  us  an  affectionate  sign  with  the 
hand,  and,  whilst  we  bowed  to  the  ground,  I  heard  him  say  to  the 
countess  in  an  undertone:  "The  children  of  the  poor  come  to  us  as 
well,  and  we  receive  them.     They  come  impelled  by  an  irresistible  vo- 


196 


THE    SEMINARY. 


cation,  and  we  bless  the  Lord,  when,  thanks  to  the  gifts  of  those  who 
are  favoured  by  fortune,  we  are  enabled  to  prepare  yet  another  work- 
man for  the  Master's  vine."  _ 

1  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising  the  Superior  when  he  returned, 
after  conducting  the  countess  to  the  treasurer's  office,  so  greatly  had  he 
changed.  His  soft  benevolent  smile  had  died  away,  his  glance  was  cold 
and  piercing,  almost  threatening,  and  his  mouth  had  assumed  a  hard, 
stern  curve.  Even  his  voice  was  no  longer  the  same — that  sweet  har- 
monious, persuasive  accent,  which  had  so  prepossessed  me  in  his  favour, 
seemed  to  have  been  set  aside  with  the  benevolent  smile — and  it  was  in 
a  harsh  tone  that  he  curtly  exclaimed  :   "  Follow  me." 

When  the  curtain  fell  behind  us,  he  was  already  seated  at  a  large 
writing  table,  covered  with  papers.  He  did  not  even  tell  us  to  sit  down. 
He  was  re-perusing  a  letter  which  I  recognised  as  the  recommendation 
written  by  our  priest.  Suddenly  he  turned  to  me  and  asked  :  ' '  What 
is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Felix,  your  reverence,"  I  answered  in  a  quaking  voice. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"Fourteen." 

"Fourteen,"  he  repeated,  talking  to  himself — "fourteen.  Two 
years  less  would  have  been  better.  The  character  is  already  formed 
and  maybe  has  taken  a  turn  we  cannot  modify.  We  need  young  chil- 
dren, very  young,  with  pliable  natures,  which  we  may  mould  like  wax. 
And  yet  we  may  have  a  try — perhaps  it  is  still  time. " 

A  moment's  silence,  which  seemed  to  me  a  century,  ensued.  At  last, 
he  raised  his  voice  again  :  "  His  reverence  the  priest  of  Larochepatour 
is  convinced  that  you  desire  to  embrace  the  most  sacred  of  all  callings. 
He  writes  to  me  to  that  effect.  Have  you  reflected  ?  Is  your  vocation 
a  sincere  one  ?    Will  it  be  durable  ?  " 

"I  told  his  reverence  the  truth,"  I  answered. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  Who  can  prove  it  to  me  ?  "  And  turning  to  my 
father  he  added  :  "  And  you,  do  you  believe  in  your  son's  vocation?  " 

"  The  lad  isn't  given  to  telling  falsehoods,"  bluntly  replied  my 
father. 

The  Superior's  rejoinder  was  not  directly  addressed  to  us.  It 
assumed  rather  the  character  of  a  soliloquy,  delivered  in  an  impressive 
voice  for  our  greater  edification  no  doubt.  "  Their  vocation,  their 
vocation,"  he  exclaimed — "  they  all  have  the  same  answer.  What  be- 
lief, what  reliance  can  be  placed  in  them  ?  Their  vocation,  they  rather 
mean  their  ambition.  They  are  anxious  to  change  their  lives,  anxious 
to  rise,  and  they  apply  to  us  to  assist  them.  Religion  is  their  pretence 
— the  world  is  their  object  !  The  seminary  is  a  necessary  trial,  a 
necessary  probation,  which  conducts  to  the  realisation  of  their  desires. 
They  come  to  us,  girt  round  with  impudence,  and  cloaked  with  hypo- 
crisy— with  lying  tongues — for  they  wish  to  effect  their  studies  gratis, 
without  unloosing  their  purse  strings.  That's  the  real  truth.  And 
perverse  parents  often  favour  their  design,  and  seek  to  deceive  us. 
Generous  and  credulous,  we  over  and  over  again  allow  ourselves  to  be 
trapped.  Duped  a  hundred  times  we  nevertheless  open  our  arms  to  all 
who  present  themselves.  We  find  room  at  our  board,  we  provide  food 
for  the  body,  and  food  for  the  mind.     We  lavish  on  the  applicant  the 


THE    SEMINARY. 


197 


thrice  sacred  treasure  of  the  Church — the  treasure  of  the  poor,  the  trea- 
sure of  the  Almighty.  And  then,  what  happens  ?  Ah  !  a  day  comes, 
when  he  casts  aside  the  mask  !  He  chooses  the  very  moment  when  we 
hoped  to  reap  what  we  had  sown  .  without  shame  he  abandons  us. 
Ah  !  the  lamb  was  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  .  .  we  had  warmed  a 
serpent  in  our  breast.  .  His  kiss  was  the  kiss  of  Judas.  .  .  He  came 
like  a  thief,  ut  fur,  and  flys  rich  in  stolen  charity.  Ah  1  he  does  not 
wait  for  the  cock  to  crow,  before  denying  us.  And  if  that  were  every- 
thing ;  but  no.  We  have  no  worse  enemies  in  this  world,  than  those  on 
whom  we  have  lavished  our  spiritual  and  temporal  riches.  They  owe 
us  everything  ;  they  must  have  their  vengeance.  Their  mouths  pour 
forth  insult  and  slander.  They  proclaim  that  they  have  discovered  our 
secrets,  as  if  we  had  any  secrets.  They  seek  to  blacken  us  in  infamous 
books,  andthe  heart  of  the  wicked  rejoices.  The  perverts  1  the  renegades  ! 
One  of  them  will  say,  that  we  have  revealed  to  him  our  watch  word,  as 
if  everyone  was  not  aware  that  our  only  motto  is  '  Love  and  Charity.' 
He  will  put  our  honour  up  to  auction,  like  the  immaculate  garment  of 
the  Saviour,  and  each  impious  beholder  will  seek  to  tear  it  to  shreds. 
Ah  !  the  unfortunate  man  !  Does  he  not  know  that  in  attacking  God's 
ministers  he  raises  his  hand  against  the  Godhead's  self — against  the 
Creator  who  said  :  '  Touch  not  the  Lord's  anointed  1 '  And  yet  the 
evil  wrought  by  his  apostacy  is  incalculable,  for  it  causes  the  flight  of  our 
best  loved  sons,  our  delectiasimi,  those  whose  intelligence  seemingly 
promised  fervent  and  able  labourers  in  the  Lord's  vineyard.  And  they 
also  will  throw  aside  their  tools  just  as  the  harvest  is  at  hand.  So 
much  tenderness  and  anxiety  lavished  in  vain  !  So  much  care  that  shall 
come  to  nought  1  And  the  money  lost — the  money  !  For  you  are  poor, 
of  course  ?  It  is  a  purse  that  you  require  ?  You  cannot  pay  for  your 
board?         " 

These  questions  coming  so  suddenly  after  this  long  meandering  dis- 
course— the  full  weight  of  which  1  did  not  then  realize — and  recalling 
us  so  brutally  to  reality,  fell  upon  our  ears  like  peals  of  thunder.  I 
flushed  indignantly.  It  was  my  first  humiliation.  As  for  my  father, 
he  drew  himself  up  as  if  he  were  about  to  answer  an  insult,  and  for  a 
moment  his  eyes  flashed  fire.  But  he  was  soon  himself  again.  Could 
he  reasonably  imagine  that  a  priest,  a  minister  of  the  Divine  Word,  had 
purposely  meant  to  insult  a  pbor  man  ? 

Plainly,  not ;  and  so  he  merely  stammered  :  "I  have  a  little  money, 
your  reverence." 

"That  is  fortunate,"  replied  the  Superior  :  "  Come,  what  can  you 
do?" 

"  Well,  if  fifty  crowns  a  year —  " 

"  'Tis  little — not  even  the  price  of  the  breakfasts." 

"By  stinting  ourselves  at  home,  the  mother  and  me,  we  might  per- 
haps make  up  sixty." 

The  Superior  made  a  gesture  of  indecision,  and  a  little  discussion 
followed.  My  father  had  to  explain  his  position.  We  had  just  had 
three  bad  harvests,  and  the  lease  of  the  farm  was  not  a  remunerative 
one.  True,  there  was  a  little  patch  of  vineland  with  a  good  aspect  which 
belonged  to  us,  but  my  father  had  borrowed  money  on  it,  to  buy  cattle ; 
and  the  interest  of  the  loan  was  superior  to  the  value  of  the  produce. 


198  THE    SEMINARY. 

For  the  moment,  the  only  income  my  father  could  coant  upon  was  de 
rived  from  some  land  he  tilled  for  the  Marquis  de  Gu<§blan  Vaucourt, 
with  whom  he  shared  the  harvests. 

At  last,  a  sum  of  sixty  crowns  was  agreed  upon  ;  but  it  was  specified 
that  if  my  father's  circumstances  improved,  he  should  give  more. 

"And  you,  my  son,"  exclaimed  the  Superior,  turning  to  me,  "re- 
member that  it  is  thanks  to  the  charity  of  pious  people,  that  you  are 
privileged  to  serve  God  after  your  heart.  Let  this  thought  be  always 
present  in  your  mind.  Let  it  guide  you  along  the  path  of  thorns  which 
falls  to  the  lot  of  God's  ministers  ;  and  let  it  prevent  you  from  looking 
back  or  going  astray  when  once  you  have  put  your  hand  to  the  plough. 
You  were  the  Lord's  by  vocation  ;  gratitude  must  now  bind  you  to  Him 
for  ever." 

The  trousseau  was  next  spoken  of.  I  could  not  remain  at  the 
Seminary  in  the  clothes  I  had  worn  at  Larochepatour.  Our  priest 
had  warned  us  of  this  before  we  started,  and  my  father  had  provided 
himself  with  all  the  money  he  possessed.  One  by  one,  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  the  old  gold  pieces,  sanctified  by  labour,  and  each  of  which  re- 
presented the  toil  of  many  months,  whilst  the  Superior  enumerated  all 
the  objects  I  required.  A  metal  tumbler,  silver  spoon  and  fork ; 
napkin  ring ;  two  pairs  of  sheets ;  twelve  towels ;  twelve  napkins ;  a 
dozen  shirts,  and  so  on,  for  several  minutes. 

My  father's  little  hoard  amounted  to  little  more  than  300  francs. 

"Come,  'twill  do,"  said  the  Superior.  "The  sum  is  altogether  in- 
sufficient, but  the  sacrifice  shall  be  taken  into  account.  Send  the  sheets, 
the  shirts,  the  towels,  &c.  We  will  make  up  the  rest."  He  reflected 
for  a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  Yes  your  son  must  be  decently  clothed. 
I  will  have  him  measured.  The  classes  re-assemble  in  four  days  ;  till 
then,  he  must  remain  as  he  is.  There  is  nothing  more  to  settle,  I  think 
— you  may  retire." 

At  that  moment  I  felt  my  heart  fail  me,  and  I  burst  into  tears,  as  I 
threw  myself  into  my  father's  arms. 

"  Poor  lad ! "  said  he,  in  a  sobbing  voice,  "  I  expected  the  conscription 
would  take  you,  but  not  that  one.  I  was  saving  up  the  money  to  buy 
you  off."  At  last  he  dried  his  tears,  and  turning  to  the  Superior  he 
asked,  "  Won't  he  ever  come  to  see  us  ?  " 

"  At  the  next  vacation,  not  before.  The  rule  is  formal :  no  casual 
holidays.  In  a  single  day,  a  child  may  lose  the  fruit  of  a  month's  work 
and  good  conduct." 

"But  can't  we  come  to  see  him  here ? " 

"It  would  be  as  well  if  you  came  as  seldom  as  possible." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  "  I  cried,  "  my  poor  mother  !  " 

The  Superior  knit  his  brows.  "  My  son,"  said  he,  in  a  stern  voice, 
"  you  cannot  serve  God  and  the  world  at  the  same  time.  Destined  to 
the  altar,  you  must,  without  a  murmur,  tear  from  your  heart  all  the 
sentiments  that  are  common  to  other  men.  .       " 

"Alas!"  murmured  my  father,  "and  yet  Our  Lord  loved  His 
mother,  the  Holy  Virgin,"  and  he  turned  to  leave — my  fate  was  sealed, 

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A  WOMAN'S    DIARY,  &  THE   LITTLE    COUNTESS.     By 

O.  Feuillet. 

"Is  wrought  out  with  masterly  skill  and  affords  reading,  which  although  of  a  slightly 
sensational  kind,  cannot  be  said  to  be  hurtful  either  mentally  or  morally." — Dumbarton 
Herald. 

BLUE-EYED  META  HOLDENIS,  &  A  STROKE  OF  DIPLO- 

MACY.    By  V.    Cheebuliez. 

"  '  Blue-eyed  Meta  Holdenis '  is  a  delightful  tale." — Civil  Service  Gazette. 
" '  A  Stroke  of  Diplomacy '  is  a  bright  vivacious  story  pleasantly  told." —  Hampshire 
Advertiser. 

THE  GODSON  OF  A  MARQUIS.    By  A.  Theuriet. 

"  The  rustic  personages,  the  rural  scenery  and  life  in  the  forest  country  of  Argonne, 
are  painted  with  the  hand  of  a  master.  From  the  beginning  to  the  close  the  interest 
of  the  story  never  flags." — Life. 

THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  &  MARIANNE.    By  George 

Sand. 

"George  Sand  has  a  great  name,  and  the  'Tower  of  Percemont'  is  not  unworthy 
of  it." — Illustrated  London  News. 

THE  LOW-BORN  LOVER'S  REVENGE.    By  V.  Cherbuliez. 

" '  The  Low-born  Lover's  Revenge '  is  one  of  M.  Cherbuliez's  many  exquisitely  written 
productions.  The  studies  of  human  nature  under  various  influences,  especially  in  the 
cases  of  the  unhappy  heroine  and  her  low-born  lover,  are  wonderfully  effective."  —  Illus- 
trated London  News. 

THE  NOTARY'S  NOSE,  AND  OTHER  AMUSING  STORIES. 

By  E.   About. 

"  Crisp  and  bright,  full  of  movement  and  interest." — Brighton  Herald. 

DOCTOR  CLAUDE  ;    OR,  LOVE  RENDERED   DESPERATE. 

By  H.  Malot.      Two  vols. 

"We  have  to  appeal  to  our  very  first  flight  of  novelists  to  find  anything  so  artistic  in 
English  romance  as  these  books." — Dublin  Evening  Mail. 

THE    THREE    RED    KNIGHTS;    OR,    THE    BROTHERS' 

VENGEANCE.      By  P.  Feval. 

"  The  one  thing  that  strikes  us  in  these  stories  is  the  marvellous  dramatic  skill  of  the 
writers." — Sheffield  Independent. 


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